A/N: This is my entry for the #unofficialdas8 that Chelsie fan proposed over on tumblr. I thought it would be fitting to do a sequel of sorts to my #unofficialdas7 story, which was "A Husband's Love." If you've not read that, it's maybe a good idea to at least check out the last chapter (if not the entire thing!), as this story picks up immediately following that one.

Thanks for reading! Please drop me a note of review at the end to let me know what you think. Each week's addition will be part of this story, and there will be nine chapters in total.

xx,

CSotA

The Tuesday after Christmas finds Elsie and Charles exiting their cottage carefully, mindful of the small patches of ice remaining on the ground. They're about to set off for Mr. Andrews's photography studio, where Elsie hopes to learn all there is to know about her new camera.

Yesterday, Elsie hadn't been sure they'd be able to keep the appointment, given that the miraculous Christmas snowfall they'd received had been followed on Boxing Day by a much larger storm, one that had dropped several more inches at their door. But the roads had since been cleared, the walkways shoveled, and Charles had insisted that Elsie keep her appointment.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay home?" she asked him over breakfast. "I'm sure I can manage."

"And miss a chance to see that look you get when you're learning about something new?" he replied. "I rather think not."

She smiled at him, and they finished their tea.

"Carefully, now," he murmurs, stepping out onto the lane. Elsie slips her hand into its comfortable spot, holding onto her husband's arm as they begin the trek.

"Don't drop that camera box, Mr. Carson," she cautions with a smile.

"That would cost more than my life's worth," he mumbles, but he's teasing and she hears it in his voice.

"Your sister-in-law would kill you," she agrees, chuckling.

It's brisk and bright out with the sun bouncing off the snow, and the pair is quiet as they make their way into town. These lengthy silences are such a part of who they are, of how they are when they're together, that they scarcely notice them anymore. They value the comfortable manner of their days together, content to just be with one another without the need for unnecessary discourse.

Charles knows Elsie has a great deal on her mind today, though, and her thoughts burden him, too, because he knows that the majority of them lie with Becky.

They'd brought Becky to the train station late yesterday afternoon, meeting up with one of the staff from her home who'd accompany her back. Her trip had been extended due to the weather, and while Elsie had been nervous about the change in plans, Becky seemed to take it in stride. She and Charles spent their extra time together making biscuits and a delicious soup from the leftover Christmas goose, and Elsie attempted (unsuccessfully) to teach Becky the basics of knitting.

Unfortunately, on the last night before she was to leave, Becky developed a rather nasty cough. Come the next morning, Becky still didn't feel well, and putting her on the train was harder for the Carsons than they'd expected. Charles would have preferred to have kept her at the cottage, but Becky had missed her friends and carers. Off she went, and Charles and Elsie enjoyed a leisurely dinner in the village at the local pub on their way back from the station, wondering in part if that was how parents felt when they ended up with some time to themselves.

This morning, though, the house felt positively empty. And Charles knows that if he felt Becky's absence acutely, then it must be at least twice as painful for his wife.

"Your thoughts are invading mine, I think," she says eventually. "Becky?"

He nods; she catches the motion out of the corner of her eye as they're walking.

"I hope she telephones this evening," Charles replies, his footfalls even on this drier part of the path. "Do you think they'll suggest it?"

"They will," Elsie says calmly, wondering for a moment if she's soothing herself as much as her husband. "After all, she'll probably be insistent. It is the last Tuesday of the month, after all. And the staff will want us to know she's settled in again nicely."

They walk on a bit more, the noise from the town center beginning to find its way to their ears.

"Is she often ill like this?"

Elsie is taken aback by the question, and she furrows her brow as she thinks. "I'm not sure," she answers truthfully. "I hear from her so seldom, as you know. Our last-Tuesday-of-the-month telephone call and a letter every other week … I don't think it's ever really come up much. Certainly there's been nothing serious. But I'm sure she suffers colds and the occasional odd thing just like the rest of us."

"What about when you lived on the farm?" he asks. He's not sure why, but it seems important that he might learn this about them, these two sisters whom he adores with all his heart.

Elsie falters, opening her mouth to speak before closing it again. Charles waits, always patient, allowing her to recall that far back.

"Yes," she says eventually, and it's a sad murmur that wrenches his heart. "She was often ill when we were young, as was I."

Charles looks over to her, wondering, and is only half-surprised to see her bottom lip tucked under her teeth. Her eyes seem watery and there's a bit of pink to her complexion ... things he knows aren't merely to be attributed to the brisk winter day.

"I'm sorry," he tells her. "I didn't mean to unearth anything you'd rather not speak of."

But she squeezes his arm tightly and shakes her head. "It's fine. Really. I just … Well, I've not thought about that life for a long time."

The village square is before them now, and Mr. Andrews's office lies just behind the fountain.

"Oh, look," Elsie says. "We've arrived!"

Charles forces a smile, but the extra brightness in her voice hadn't fooled him at all. She was sad to think back on those days, and he wonders about that. It's funny to him sometimes that he and Elsie have known each other for decades, have even loved each other for a good part of that time, yet there was still so much they didn't know about one another.

The lesson goes remarkably well, and they leave with a plan in place: Elsie will experiment with the camera on a variety of topics - close-ups of favorite items at home, longer-distance shots of the regular bird at the suet feeder, and even one or two portraits of her husband. Indoors and outdoors, in all sorts of light; Mr. Andrews gave her very clear instructions, which Charles noted meticulously in a small pocket notebook as Elsie's hands were occupied with getting a feel for the camera itself.

"Come back when you've finished, and we'll develop them in the dark room," Mr. Andrews said, to which Charles raised an eyebrow. "Erm, with your husband along to see how it's done as well, of course," the kind gentleman added quickly, making Elsie both blush at the implication and chuckle when she saw the look on Charles's face.

The walk home is much warmer now that the sun's out, and Elsie chatters on about various ideas for portraits of Charles. He indulges her, joking about whether or not Lord Grantham could spare the old butler's livery, or if perhaps he should don his cricket whites despite it being off-season. Her laughter is light, and he's grateful for it.

Dinner is a small affair that evening, a small roasted chicken and some root vegetables from the home farm that Mrs. Patmore had sent down last week. They cook together these days, with Charles helping with some of the cutting and peeling on the days his hands aren't a bother, or simply stirring and keeping an eye on things when they are.

He's dozing on the settee when Elsie comes through from having cleaned up the dishes and wiped down the stove. They don't have an extravagant home by any means, but after living so many decades at the Abbey, they've found they prefer it that way. Still, she knows, a humble home is no excuse for messiness, and she's never been one to let things lie that need to be done.

"Charlie?" She lays a hand on his shoulder, and he snuffles a bit - not quite a snore, but more than a deep breath, and she smiles fondly at him as she trails her fingertips through his thinning hair.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I must've dozed off a bit."

She comes around the sofa to sit beside him, tucking herself under his arm. "Like every night," she reminds him, and she's rewarded with a small tickle to her side.

They love this easiness into which they've slipped since her retirement, the freedom they have to sleep in a bit in the morning (which is rare) or to share a cuddle by the fire after dinner (which isn't). Maneuvering herself a bit, Elsie ends up sitting back against her husband's side, and he turns to wrap her up in his arms.

"Do you need the afghan?" he asks.

"No, I'm nicely warm with you here," she replies agreeably, and a small hum escapes his mouth as he drops a kiss to her head.

The fire pops in the hearth and it startles him.

"Sorry," he mumbles, settling back down. "Must be a lot of pitch in the wood."

It's about five minutes later before she gives him any reply; he thought she'd fallen asleep, she was so quiet.

"It was a hard life," Elsie tells him softly, her eyes trained on the fire. "On the farm, I mean. Becky … me … She was ill quite a lot, and I had to care for her. The doctor called it a 'failure to thrive' in the early days, but that was before they knew anything else was really wrong with her. Some winters … well, the winters could be long."

"You must've had quite a time trying to watch over her," he said cautiously, deftly ignoring the suggestion that there were many months where food was hardly plentiful. "You're not that far apart in age."

"I was six, yes. Should have been starting at the village school, but I didn't actually begin until after I'd turned seven. By then, Da had someone helping out on the farm, but it had always just been him and my Mam before that."

"With you in tow as a toddler? Surely not."

"No," she smiled wistfully. "Our Gran was alive until I turned five, and she lived with us."

His eyes grow wide, and he is grateful Elsie cannot see the shock on his face. "But after that, you were alone with Becky during the day, watching over her?"

She nods, which he feels against his shoulder. "The neighbor popped in at lunch to be sure we were fed, but yes - it was mostly down to me. We made do. We had to, really."

The fire dies down, and no more is said until much later, when Charles has nudged Elsie awake and suggested they head up to bed, where she can sleep more comfortably.

It's only when his lips are brushing her temple, his hand heavy on her hip, that she remembers.

"It was all right, Charlie. My childhood, I mean. I just worry about her is all."

He pulls back a bit to look in her eyes, and nods. "I know you do. So do I."

"I never wanted us to be a burden to you," Elsie whispers, and he lies down against the pillows and pulls her close, holding on tightly in the way he knows she finds comforting.

"You're not," he reminds her for the thousandth time.

As she drifts off to sleep, Charles peeks out the window and notices the pale moonbeams filtered through the branches of the pine that stands outside their cottage, wondering why they'd received no telephone call tonight from Becky's home.

He's nervous about that ... and he knows his wife is, too.

tbc