A/N: Tumblr prompt from Ame: "And do a Chelsie one of Elsie comforting Charles about Matthew's death (cuz he's upset for Mary)." This is my first dabble with Chelsie, and it aligns strictly with the series canon. Here goes:

Elsie drew a distraught Charles into her sitting room, shooting a glance behind her at the others to indicate that they were not to be disturbed. Closing the door behind them, she had him sit down in his usual place. Then she stuck her head into one of her cabinets, reaching far back.

This caught Charles' attention, and he stared at her backside, perplexed. Wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, he half turned in his chair, his eyebrows almost meeting. "Might I ask what you're doing?"

But at that moment, Elsie withdrew herself from the cabinet with a triumphant, "Ah-ha ha-ha ha-haaa!" Whirling around, she had the grace to blush somewhat and became sober again. "I apologize, Mr. Carson. I simply thought for a moment that I'd misplaced this, and it turns out I haven't." She indicated the bottle in her hand.

"Brandy?" His brows now rose to the middle of his forehead. As many years as he'd known her, he didn't realize that Elsie kept a bottle of brandy in her sitting room.

"Yes. For medicinal purposes, of course." She twitched a brandy glass out of the cabinet next and poured a generous serving. This she placed in front of Charles before taking her chair across from him. "I think this calls for it. Please drink. It will do you some good."

Charles saw the concern on her face, heard it in her voice. Nodding once, he picked up the glass and took a long sip. Gazing down into the amber liquid, he remarked, "It's difficult to believe, isn't it? He's gone. He saw his son once, and then - never again. And poor Lady Mary, made a widow so young…." He applied his handkerchief to his eyes and sipped at the brandy.

Elsie listened to him, watched him. She slid her hand across the small table and curled her fingers around his wrist, as both his hands were full. He looked up at her in mild surprise. "Listen to me, Mr. Carson," she said, her voice firm, but her tone gentle. "You know better than anyone that I am not Lady Mary's greatest admirer. But she - the whole family - has suffered a great loss. Another great loss. Sometimes I wonder if this house is cursed," she muttered, half under her breath, her eyes traveling down to her hand on his wrist. Then she appeared to recall herself and lifted her eyes up once more, briefly tightening her fingers around him. "This family - both upstairs and down - pulls together when tragedy strikes. And this will be no different. We shall care for Lady Mary and her poor, wee babe."

"Yes, you're right, Mrs. Hughes." Charles swallowed the last of the brandy, then covered her hand with his own.

"And Lady Mary has no greater supporter to turn to than you." Her eyes locking with his, Elsie was pleased when he gave her a tiny smile. "We'll get through, Mr. Carson. Somehow."

Charles blinked rapidly, lowering his head again. He knew she was right, but his heart hurt for his favorite and her baby son. He'd seen how much Lady Mary went through, how she'd silently pined for Mr. Crawley, and just when they'd been their happiest, that happiness had been ripped away from her. It was cruel and unfair.

Suddenly, he felt Elsie remove her hand from his wrist, felt her pull it from beneath his own. He looked up in confusion as she took the few steps around the table. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she bent down and brushed her lips over his cheek. He stared at her, beholding her understanding, caring visage.

"And when you need support, you know where to come. My door is always open to you, Mr. Carson." Uncertain why she felt this would be the best means of comfort to him, Elsie pressed another kiss to his temple before standing straight again. Her hand remained on his shoulder. "More brandy?"

"Yes, I believe I'll have a small one." He watched as she poured it out, somewhat dazed. Elsie was his greatest supporter, he realized, and his best friend. And her method of comfort appeared to be working.

Charles knew he'd be knocking on her door more often.