On October 31st 2014, VoyICJ gave me this prompt: Josh Groban "You're still you"; Chelsie... Sappy? Me? Nah, never ;)

As it turns out, I am the world's worst prompt fulfiller. Somehow, I saw took "sappy" and twisted it into "smutty" and almost eight months later, I'm still not finished. But, since it's her birthday, I figured I should probably give her something ;) Updates will probably be sporadic, and I apologize in advance for that.

This is uncharted territory for me. Please let me know what you think of my tenure as Ship Captain.

A huge shoutout goes to deeedeee who turned this story from an incoherent mess into something more legible. Thank you for everything.

Prologue

"You're quiet tonight."

Mrs Hughes had been chattering away, asking him question only to receive a few grunts and noncommittal answers from the butler in return. He's at the chair nearest to the door, and she's pulled her desk chair close to him. Her knees are almost pressed up against his, a sliver of respectable distance between them. She brings the small glass of sherry to her lips and takes a small sip.

There's is no use in probing him further; he'll tell her when he's good and ready.

He swirls the amber liquid in his glass. "Is Mrs Patmore still upset with me?" he finally relents, refusing to make eye contact.

"Why do you ask?" she frowns and cradles the small glass in her lap. Mrs Patmore has a quick temper, and a sharp wit. "You would be the first to know if she were."

He sits back and stares intently into his glass and continues to swirl it around. "She told Lord Grantham that I'm heartless."

"Oh Mr Carson," she sighs and and takes his hand in hers and squeezes it lightly. "You know how she is; she always says things she doesn't mean when she's upset. Don't let that bring you down."

He seems to ponder this for a moment. "Do you think I'm heartless?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr Carson," she scoffs. "You know I don't. Far from it, in fact."

"And if you were upset?" he asks. "Would I know?

"I should think so," she shrugs, eyes darting away from his. "Nobody knows me like you do."

He turns her hand over in his and starts drawing circles on her palm, seemingly taking her words into consideration.

"And if I upset you?" she asks, suddenly breathless. "Would I know?"

A hint of a smile. "Don't be ridiculous, Mrs Hughes," he says softly, echoing her words.

A few moments go by silently before she realizes he is still holding her hand and she finds that she is surprisingly comfortable with that. She has no idea what they are doing and she knows it's not right, but she can't find it in herself to break their connection. She can worry about whatever is appropriate in the morning.

She waits for the alarm bells to start ringing in her head; but they never come; it's a knock at the door that causes him to drop her hand.

The legs of her chair scrape against the hardwood when she turns to see who is still awake at this hour. Daisy is hovering at the door with a small library balanced in her arms.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs Hughes, " says Daisy. "Is it alright if I use your sitting room? I have some math problems Miss Bunting asked me to complete."

"Oh of course, Daisy!" says Mrs Hughes as she stands. She decides to purposefully ignore Mr Carson's clenched jaw as they both stand. The girl's continuing education has been a contentious issue, and she's really not in the mood to argue with him right now. "Give me a moment to clear off the table."

"I really am sorry to interrupt," she says as she drops her books on the table. Mr Carson grimaces at the sound. "It's just that I promised Miss Bunting I would have this done by tomorrow."

Mrs Hughes takes Mr Carson's glass and places it on the tray next to hers. "A promise is a promise, Daisy," she reminds the girl. "We understand."

She smiles and opens one of her books. "I know you don't approve, Mr Carson, but-"

Carson frowns and interrupts her. "It's not that I don't approve, Daisy," he says. Two sets of eyes snap up to meet his.

"What?" Daisy is stunned. "But… before? In the kitchen, you said…"

"I know what I said, and I'm still not entirely convinced it's the best use of your time," he continues. "But it doesn't matter what I think. It's clear to me that you are going to pursue this with or without my approval. As long as your work performance doesn't suffer, it's fine by me."

Daisy blinks, astounded by his words. "Thank you, Mr Carson."

"We'll leave you to it then." He bows out of the room, with Mrs Hughes at his side. Their steps are in sync as they make their way down the dimly lit corridor.

"Thank you," she says eventually, breaking their comfortable silence, "for encouraging Daisy like that."

"I told her the truth, Mrs Hughes. Nothing more, nothing less."

"It still means a lot to her," she replies. "What made you change your mind?"

"Oh I don't know," he shakes his head and continues walking at his stately pace. "I suppose there are some things in life that are not worth fighting."

After a long, excruciating afternoon entertaining Sergeant Willis, they are both quite frazzled. Mrs Hughes is frazzled because she knows what his visit implies for Anna and Mr Bates. Mr Carson is frazzled because Sergeant Willis' visit ate up a huge chunk of his day and they are severely understaffed for dinner ; Mr Barrow is still away visiting his sick father, and as a result they are down to only one lonesome footman.

Mrs Hughes is in the corridor when she spots him rushing in her direction. Knowing full well that the middle of dinner is not a time one wants to encounter the flustered butler, she carefully steps to the side to let him pass. To her astonishment, he slows down and calls to her instead.

"A moment Mrs Hughes?"

She turns at the unexpected nearness of the voice, looks up to see Mr Carson hovering above her with a silver tray in his steady hands. She wants to take a step back, but she knows she can't possibly press herself any further into the wall.

She nods because she doesn't trust her voice to be steady.

"This has been bothering me all day. Has something happened? Has Sergeant Willis said something to upset you?"

It's happened before; but lately it's been happening more frequently. Her words keep abandoning her. Normally she would be armed with a witty retort, but then she makes the mistake of looking into his kind eyes, and her words no longer seem appropriate.

This isn't something she wants to talk about, least of all when he's rushing back to serve dinner and she's holding onto a secret that isn't hers to tell. In that moment, she decides it's best to feign confusion. She means to be assertive, to send him on his way, but he has systematically dismantled her defenses and she's left with nothing but a crack in her voice.

"I'm fine."

He doesn't say anything at first, and she knows it's because he's not sure how to proceed. "I trust that if you were to ever feel unsteady, you'd feel comfortable enough to tell me."

She gives him a small smile to assuage his concerns, and he visibly relaxes slightly. But a glimmer of concern still lingers. No matter how much she wants to accept the strength he is offering her, she is no position to share her burdens. She quickly brushes her fingers over his elbow, tries to show him that she appreciates everything he's doing because she doesn't trust herself to thank him with words that will do her hammering heart justice.

"Now is not the time to be sentimental, Mr Carson," she turns away from him, her eyes darting to her clasped hands in front of her. "You have a dinner to tend to."

If they had been somewhere else, anywhere that wasn't in the the vicinity of prying eyes, or if he wasn't holding the tray, perhaps he'd be able to reach down and give her hand a gentle squeeze. Perhaps she'd lift herself on her tiptoes and kiss his cheek.

But they're here now and he's returning to his duties and she's remembering what it's like to breathe again.