A/N: A new adventure. For those who don't know, I've been writing Richobel for three months. I just wrapped up my flagship fic and was eager to take on a new challenge. You see, I'm a dual shipper, but I had yet to write any Chelsie. This is my first attempt, so please be gentle with me!

The inspiration for this fic was taken from an old "50 Words, 1 Sentence" prompt I stumbled upon. Brevity is not among my strengths as a writer, so I've chosen 50 words at random and will be writing a vignette for each that captures a moment from the perspective of Charles, Elsie, Richard, Isobel or some combination thereof. I plan to post chapters comprised of five vignettes at a time.

Tremendous thanks to ChelsieSouloftheAbbey for beta and brenna-louise for the enthusiastic flails over my previews. :)

Enjoy, and please leave a little review if you've the time. Feedback is my greatest teacher!

xx,

~ejb~

1. Chord

It's a different tune Isobel plays these days. Gone are the days of dissonant chords, of mournful hymns. A little more than two years since Matthew's death and it still aches, but only sometimes. And tonight is not one of those times.

She sits at the piano this New Year's Eve, beaming as Elsie's lovely voice rings out.

For auld lang syne, my jo
For auld lang syne
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne

Behind them, Charles and Richard share a knowing look across the sitting room, which is filled with the ones most dear to them. Anna and John are here, their newborn son asleep on Charles' shoulder. Tom's arms are full of a very drowsy Sybbie, who pleaded for permission to stay awake to hear her Nana Bel play and Auntie Essie sing. Mary is perched on the hearth, glancing down at George with a smirk. He has curled up with MacTavish, his grandparents' beagle, and is now fast asleep, his thumb planted firmly between his lips.

The last note resonates, Isobel and Elsie clasp hands and share a smile, and the guests applaud. Charles relinquishes little William John Bates to his father, but not before dropping a kiss on the infant's downy head. Elsie passes by them and gives his forearm a squeeze. Their eyes meet and Charles is overwhelmed by the love he sees in the depths of hers.

Richard and Isobel are keeping the grandchildren tonight, and Sybbie asks that Auntie Essie tuck her in. Tom kisses the little girl good night and Elsie takes her by the hand into the nursery. Isobel picks up George, rousing him to receive a kiss from his mother, and follows behind. The children are changed into pajamas and tucked into bed. Just as Isobel and Elsie turn to leave, Sybbie's sweet voice can be heard.

"Auntie Essie, sing me that song again … please?"

Elsie glances at Isobel, who nods. "I'll tell Charles you'll be along in a moment," she says as she leaves the room.

Songs sung, children asleep, and the younger adults seen off, Charles and Elsie sit next to one another on the settee, fingers entwined. Richard occupies the adjacent armchair, Isobel in his lap. They sip sherry and reminisce about the year they've had. It has been a year of firsts: the first full year of Isobel and Richard's retirement, of Charles and Elsie's marriage. The Clarksons now have a new cause, the Downton Historical Society, and the Carsons a new grandchild. Moreover, the year has seen a friendship that had begun as camaraderie between the two women grow to include their husbands as well.

It is Charles who gives voice to the unanimous thought on the minds of all four.

"It's been a good year." It's brilliantly understated in that characteristic manner of his, and it earns him bright smiles all around.

"Hear, hear," Richard agrees, raising his glass. The others follow, glasses clinking as the toast is raised.

A very good year indeed.

2. Uniform

The heat is oppressive as Elsie and Isobel sit under the canopy sipping water with lemon and fanning themselves. The house team is fielding and the game is well into its fifth hour. They're here to support Charles and Richard, both of whom play for the house now that Richard's retired, but neither woman has been following the match since around the time the second innings began. Try as they may, neither understands all the intricacies of the game. But they sit and they watch and they smile, cheering when appropriate and waving to the men when they catch their eyes.

Elsie sighs, raising her glass to her lips. "We may require something a touch stronger if they don't wrap it up in short order!"

Isobel laughs, nodding her head. "Indeed. Remind me why we come to these things again?"

"Now, now, you know very well why," Elsie pretends to chide, a hint of mischief in her eyes as she smiles.

It's Isobel's turn to sigh, pressing the cold glass against her cheek. "We fools can't seem to resist the sight of our men in uniform." She rolls her eyes as she says it, and the gesture is so very Richard that Elsie can't help but giggle.

The match rolls on and the women lose themselves in their thoughts.

Elsie will never forget the first time she laid eyes upon Charles. She was newly arrived from Argyll, fresh-faced and wide-eyed at the prospect of working in the grand house. He was first footman then, assigned by the butler to show the new housemaid the ropes. His demeanor was much then as it is now: taciturn, reserved, as buttoned-up as his livery. Beneath the surface there was so much more to the man, and Elsie had seen it from the start, little chinks in his armor with the passage of time; glimpses, however fleeting, at the tender heart of the man beneath the gruff exterior.

Oh, but was he dashing in that livery! Years passed and with his rise to the position of butler came a new uniform, the one she watches him don each day now. She smiles impishly. It's the satisfied smile of a woman who has exclusive knowledge of what lies beneath the starched collars and high-waisted trousers, a mystery revealed after decades of wondering.

The look is not lost on her friend. "Elsie Carson, whither might your mind have wandered?" Isobel teases. As Elsie looks at the other woman she can see the telltale sign of flushed cheeks that likely result from more than simply the heat.

"I believe this is a case of the pot calling the kettle 'black,' my friend," Elsie banters back.

Elsie isn't wrong, and Isobel covers her eyes momentarily in feigned abashedness.

"We don't see much of uniforms these days," Isobel offers sheepishly.

Richard was wearing his lab coat the first time she met him. She was struck by the contrast … the stark white of the coat and of his hair versus the piercing blue of his eyes, the warmth of his brogue. Those eyes, those eyes. They saw straight through her, right from the outset.

The war years were a test of their resolve, with days beginning long before sunrise and lasting well into the wee hours. Day after day they moved with precision from bed to bed, she in her nursing greys and he in full dress. She remembers with a flush of heat the way she used to imagine running her fingertips over his insignia, dreaming of asking him how and where each was earned.

It's her turn to smile. She knows now. Each stripe, every emblem and the significance of them all. In halting whispers, he shared those stories. With gentle fingers she has mapped the scars earned alongside those accolades, has blessed them with her lips and is intimately acquainted with the quiet strength of the man behind the façade.

3. Hold

Richard likes it best when he catches Isobel off guard. Stepping up behind her, pulling her back against his chest, settling his hands on her hips. He marvels at the fit of them in spite of the similarities in their stature. Her shoulder, particularly the delicate curve where it meets her neck, was made for him, perfectly shaped to accommodate his chin as it rests there, his lips as they meet tender skin.

She is lithe and trim, built almost like an athlete, he thinks, and yet the roundness of her bottom is the perfect complement to the sharpness of his hipbones. She's softness and warmth, and the half-sigh, half-moan her lips emit as his arms come around her is the sweetest sound his ears have ever heard. She presses back against him, looking at him over her shoulder from beneath long, dark lashes with eyes that speak of love and gratitude, desire and challenge. He has met his match in her; she who runs hot and cold, speaks without thinking and whose wit is sharper than the blade of a scalpel. But beneath all her sharp edges there's a heart that seeks out and finds the best in humanity, arms that easily embrace "the least of these," and a hope that blazes through darkness like the sun burning off the early morning fog.

For Isobel, it's lying along the length of his body, every inch of their skin touching as she pillows her head on his chest, soothed by his heartbeat, sure and steady, resounding like a drum beneath her ear. His practiced hands are ever in motion, counting her vertebrae (she hears him whispering the names of each under his breath when he thinks she's asleep) and moving from pulse point to pulse point. She is addicted to the way he can't stop touching her, and as she recollects the past she realizes there were inklings of it stretching as far back as their history goes. He was always there, the hand at the small of her back as she preceded him through doorways, the fingertips brushing against hers as they shared a cup of tea at the end of a long shift. His were the arms that held her in the depths of her dread, anchoring her to life and light when darkness swirled all around; his were the arms that held her delicately when she began to come awake again, setting her firmly upon solid ground once more.

oOo

Charles is still astonished by how diminutive Elsie is when she's in his arms. Why, she's positively tiny, he thinks with amusement as he smoothes a hand down her back, over the curve of her hip. In all the years they've worked alongside one another, he has never characterized her that way. On the contrary, she is a force to be reckoned with as she walks the corridors of the Abbey, her chatelaine jangling in time with the precise click, click, click of her heels. While he is quick to reprimand the staff when he overhears them disparaging "the Scottish Dragon," he can understand the connotation of a larger-than-life presence associated with the housekeeper.

But while she is most definitely feisty and unafraid to speak her mind when it's called for, his Elsie is gentle, and he thinks the press of her small hand over his heart is the closest he has ever come to touching heaven. And as she gazes up into his eyes he can see it all without her needing to speak a word.

Charlie, you were worth waiting a lifetime for.

Elsie had longed for the feeling of arms around her in the night for more years than she cared to count. After she came to Downton that desire became more intense, more focused. She chided herself for having those thoughts about a colleague, for one thing ('It's altogether improper') and her superior for another ('Are you mad, woman? Are you asking to be sacked?!'). Until that day in the corridor outside his pantry when he'd learned that her cancer scare was, in fact, just that - a scare - and she'd overheard him singing in relief. That was the moment she had begun to suspect that her feelings for him were returned; the day she stopped shaming herself for dreaming of a life and a future with him.

She smiles now, as he shifts in his sleep and his arms tighten around her. While the dreams were fantastical, carrying her through many a restless night, they pale in comparison to reality. How could she have known about the way his warm palm totally covers her abdomen, or about the pleasant shivers that run the length of her spine in response? Indeed, she was wholly ignorant then of the way that he, in slumber, manages to wrap all four limbs securely about her, effectively imprisoning her in his embrace. It's the sweetest kind of captivity, and in these moments she wills time to stop, longing to feel this way - safe, desired, cherished - forever.

4. House

Elsie and Charles sit next to one another on the bench by the front garden. The sun is setting and they sip tea, their legs covered by an afghan to ward off the chill of evening. He smoothes back an errant lock of her hair and her fingers wander absentmindedly to the nape of his neck, kneading the muscles there.

"Penny for them, Els," he says tenderly.

"Hmm?" She turns to look at him, struck by the intensity of his dark eyes.

"You were rather far away just now, love. Are you quite all right?"

"Oh, aye," she responds, fingertips smoothing the furrow of his brow. "Only I was thinking that I've never told you how sorry I am for doubting your motivation when you asked me to invest in a property with you." She looks away for a moment, thoughtful, before her eyes meet his again. "I am sorry, Charles. You'd not spoken of your feelings at that point, but I knew."

He raises her hand to his lips, kisses the back of it. "You may well have known, but it can't have helped that I kept my … my feelings hidden for so very long. But it's no matter now, is it? We got there in the end."

She smiles at him, her heart so full of love that laughter bubbles up from deep within her soul. She throws her head back and gives in to it, and as he watches her he cannot help it. Her joy is contagious and his shoulders begin to shake as he laughs along with her.

"Och," she sighs, wiping away the tears that have formed in the corners of her eyes. "I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard I cried!" She leans into him and he presses a kiss to her temple. "We got there in the end," she echoes. "We did indeed."

She shivers then, and he puts an arm around her shoulders. "Perhaps we should move this inside, love. Wouldn't want you to catch a chill."

She grins at him and her eyes sparkle. "What are you suggesting, Mr. Carson?"

He reaches out to brush the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and it's as if he's attempting to capture her smile. He cups her chin in his hand and leans in, pressing his lips to hers gently. "Well, I thought we'd begin by cuddling on the sofa in front of the fire …" He trails off momentarily, kissing her once more. "And then perhaps …" He whispers the remaining details into her ear and she laughs mirthfully once again, reaching a hand up to smooth back that unruly curl of his that insists upon falling out of place. It's one of the myriad details of life with him that she treasures, one that she'll never tire of.

She stands and takes his hand as they make to move inside. "Why Mr. Carson," she says, eyes dancing in the moonlight, "It's about time you and I live a little!"

5. Wreck

Their friendship had begun in earnest following the war, when they'd both taken an interest in Ethel Parks. Together they had plotted ways of helping the young mother to secure employment, of convincing the parents of the late Major Bryant to take an interest in their grandson. Isobel had admired Elsie's compassion for the young woman despite the ill-advised choices she made. Elsie was taken aback by Isobel's tenacity, her insistence upon seeing Ethel through the anguish of giving up her son so that he would have a chance at a real life, not one lived in poverty and shadow. The situation had broken both women's hearts, and they'd turned to one another in their disillusionment and had each, in so doing, found an ally.

The camaraderie between them is organic. They come at life from similar viewpoints. Look for the best in others. Help those who cannot help themselves. Never give up hope. Elsie is revered by her underlings - everyone's confidante, but the truth is that her position, both in the hierarchy of service and in the social strata, makes forming friendships difficult. Isobel sees herself as existing on the fringes, a notion that perturbed Elsie initially, but one with which she has since come to sympathize. What impresses Elsie most about Isobel stems from the fact that she can operate comfortably in both the middle and upper classes. Isobel is most comfortable around real people, those who make no pretenses about who they truly are, who possess integrity regardless of their social standing.

Their friendship works, Elsie thinks, because Isobel reaches across the divisions created by society. In addition to being bold and outspoken, she is simply good and kind to all. She is not a ladyship and eschews her association with the aristocracy. She is well and truly at home in the quaint cottage she shares with her husband. But at the same time the Granthams are her family, and they've been good to her. Isobel has helped Elsie to see redeeming qualities in them where she might not have otherwise.

Their friendship works, Isobel thinks, because Elsie can see her for who she really is. There's a touch more stillness in Elsie's soul than there is in Isobel's own, and because of this Elsie has a knack for reading people, for getting a bead on their motivations by keen observation. They know one another well enough by now that Elsie isn't afraid to give it to her straight when she thinks Isobel is in the wrong.

That's precisely what Elsie did when Isobel and Richard had their first falling out as newlyweds. Isobel had left home in a huff when Richard could not accept the Granthams' attempts to make him feel like a member of the family. Elsie sat Isobel down over tea and explained, from a perspective very similar to Richard's, that his acceptance was not going to come overnight; that it may not come at all if Isobel did not take a step back and allow her husband to move at his own pace. Isobel will ever credit Elsie with saving her from making a complete wreck of the marriage that had been such a long time coming.

And Isobel's encouragement was instrumental in Elsie's decision, on that day at the seaside, to offer Charles a steadying hand. Elsie had watched Isobel blossom in Richard's care and had listened when her friend charged her not to miss out on the sweet surprise that was love in this season of life. Isobel had asked Elsie what it was that she loved best about Charles, and when Elsie had answered that it was Charles' steadfastness, his adherence to tradition and sense of right and wrong that grounded her, Isobel had rightly ascertained that Charles may be looking for that same steadiness from Elsie before he could begin to consider that his feelings for her were worth risking his heart for. That moment by the seaside changed the course of Charles and Elsie's lives forever, and Elsie will always credit Isobel with inspiring her to action.