AN: Episode addition for S4, Ep 2. Fits in just after Mr Carson agrees to let Jimmy take Ivy to the theatre (about 33 minutes in, if we're being exact). Hope you enjoy!

For Monajo7, who said it was a good idea. :)

All mistakes mine.

Edited: 17/02/14

He knew he shouldn't have opened his mouth. But as Mrs Patmore left his pantry, closing the door behind her with a soft click, Charles couldn't prevent his mind from dredging up memories of a youth misspent on the stage... and of the man currently imposing on Mrs. Crawley's generosity and good nature at Crawley House.

"Strange to think that the theatre was part of my life, at one time."

It was a statement spoken to the circular light switch on the wall, just above the housekeeper's shoulder, but Charles was certain that Mrs Hughes would see the opening for what it was. After all, she had had less to go on when she had riffled through his bin for Griggs' letter…

"Yours, and Mr. Griggs."

Well, he had gone and done it now.

Charles allowed his gaze to return to Mrs Hughes at the same moment that she looked up from examining the floor. "You know he's going to work in Belfast..."

"I had heard," he replied evenly.

Her eyes dropped again to the floor. Charles noticed that she had styled her hair differently – twisting her sleek auburn locks up at the sides. It suited her.

"He's leaving the village in the morning," Mrs Hughes continued, voice soft and hesitant – as if she was approaching an injured animal. Then, raising her head to look him squarely in the eye, she added: "The eleven O' clock train."

Charles felt his jaw clench. Though he had wanted to have this conversation, to be updated about the well-being of his old 'friend', he was finding it… difficult. "And what's that to me?" he managed to bite out.

"I'll tell you what it is," she murmured, taking a step towards him – bolder now that eye contact had been established and he hadn't bolted. "It's an open wound. I don't know why, but I do know this: you'd do better to stitch it up and let it heal."

She was looking at him, really looking at him, those clear forget-me-not-eyes boring into his - daring him to contradict her. Charles looked away, seeking out the safety of the bronze light switch once more. How was it that this woman seemed to understand his situation better than he did, when she wasn't even aware of Alice's existence? It was like she could see straight through him.

What was it that she had said to Mrs Patmore earlier? Something about everyone having their heart broken at some point…

Charles felt a rush of affection for his stalwart housekeeper. Here she was, waiting patiently in his pantry, offering a solution to the problem he had struggled with alone, for more years than he cared to count, and all he had done to repay her kindness was regard her with suspicion and bite her head off at every available opportunity.

She was offering him the key to his future, if he was brave enough to take it.

Let it heal.

He saw with sudden clarity the woman standing before him: rushing to the dining room when he had doubled over with that panic attack, sitting at his bedside and reading to him when he'd contracted the Spanish Flu, celebrating a successful dinner party with a glass of something sweet, arguing when he was being inflexible and needed to be taken down a peg or two… Mrs Hughes was more than his friend - she was his check, his yardstick, the mirror in which he saw himself clearly.

She was the key to his future. And she was standing right in front of him, wringing her hands - worried that she had overstepped the mark.

Charles didn't think. He moved. With a sudden burst of speed, he pulled his hands from behind his back, took her shoulders, and pulled her towards him.

A startled "Mr Carson?!" left her lips just before his came crashing down, stealing the air from her lungs with a passionate kiss. She fought, naturally, small hands pushing against his chest, but he was so much stronger that it made little difference. He was kissing her like his life depended on it, desperately, lips locking and unlocking, trying to communicate everything he knew he would never be able to find the words to say when, finally, she sagged against his body.

That was when his sense of propriety kicked in.

Charles broke the kiss as abruptly as he had initiated it, pulling away from Mrs Hughes so swiftly that she almost lost her balance.

Red in the face and breathing hard, they stared at each other from opposite ends of the room.

"Mrs. Hughes," Charles began, guilt seeping into his stomach and settling there heavily as she raised a hand to cover her mouth. "I- I don't know what came over me – I… ah, I must throw myself on your mercy and, ah, beg for your forgiveness…" She was shaking her head. Why was she shaking her head? "… even though I know I don't- I don't deserve-"

"Charles," Elsie interrupted, lowering her hand.

He found himself examining his shoes, much in the same way that she had examined the floor earlier. "Y-Yes?" He cleared his throat.

Three quick steps brought her feet into his field of vision, polished shoes stopping just inches away from his. A soft hand on his cheek lifted his head. Charles closed his eyes, unable to look at her after his coarse, un-gentlemanly actions, but then she started stroking his cheek, soothing away his uncertainty with long, gentle swipes.

Carefully, so as not to spook him, Elsie stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him, very gently, on the mouth.

When Charles didn't open his eyes she did it again, pressing her lips against his a little more forcefully, encouraging him to respond. The third time Elsie kissed him Charles' hands settled at her waist, holding her steady. And when she smiled against his lips, he finally let himself kiss her back - soft butterfly kisses that only started on her mouth before traveling along her jaw, up her cheek, across to her nose, up her nose, until his lips were resting, quite comfortably, against her forehead.

"Elsie," he whispered, heart pounding with the thrill of holding her close. "Am I to understand that my earlier actions weren't entirely… unwelcome?"

Mrs Hughes gave a soft sigh, turning so that she could tuck her head under his chin, arms wrapping around his large frame. "I'd say it was a long time coming… Charles."