A sort-of reaction to the last 2 episodes - bit melancholy and quite short for me, but says what I wanted it to. Enjoy!
A long time coming
"I am who I am," his words repeat in her mind as they walk early evening. When the grass is damp and the air crisp.
Her hand is neatly tucked in his and she runs through the myriad of emotions she feels for this man. There is love of course. Strong as the river, as unrelenting, the base of all things. Yet he is a constant challenge. As she alters and grows and changes with the ever moving time he remains as solid as the mountain side. She wonders, when at her most angry with him, if anything ever really touches him. But then he catches her fingertips in his and the thought passes. She has his heart.
"It's cold this evening," he says, his voice low, and she knows he's thinking of Sybil as he guides them out onto the rocky outcrop overlooking the village. Her thighs ache from the steep incline and his hasty pace. He is still beside her and when she glances over to his face his cheeks shine a little in the dusky light, the long stretch of tears dipping beneath his chin. He hardly ever cries. Never perhaps.
She leaves him be. For a time. And remains silent by his side.
When his breathing has settled and she feels the tension leave him she moves slightly, steps back to sit on a rock and he joins her, their hands parted for the first time since they disappeared out of sight of the house.
For a while she absorbs the view, and the solitude of the moment. Glad of the stillness surrounding them.
"I wish it had been me. If someone had to die under Downton's roof, I wish it had been me." She whispers, her voice a little shaky.
"Don't say that," he said quickly covering her hand with his and pulling it into his lap. "Don't ever say that."
"I am an old woman compared to her. She had so much of life ahead, that baby... that poor baby will never know its mother, I would happily have given my life for hers."
"Yes." He said gently, keenly aware of her body beside his on the small rock, her hand cold beneath his. "But not you, I would not give you."
She twists her head slightly to look at him, "Charles," she whispers, "you and I, when will we ever get this right?"
He swallows, keeps his eyes on the view, the village below lighting the dimming night.
"I don't know Elsie, I keep hoping, this will be enough. As it is."
His words seem sharp to her, though he didn't mean it that way. She longs for more now. In the early days, when she'd become aware of their mutual attraction, she dreamt of running away and being married. Then she settled into the work, to the role, and she was glad of his nearness, of his friendship and obvious affection. She thought desires had long since settled down into a comfortable pattern of routine. But now she isn't so sure.
"I wonder of the future," she whispers, "I'm not sure I'm content to die at Downton as you are. As simply Mrs Hughes."
He catches the impact of her words, watches as she quickly gets up, and pulls her hand away from him. He longs to touch her. Hold her. Confess his deep and undying love. But instead he stays the same. Stoic.
"Time we were getting back," she says heading down the hill.
Not for the first time in his life he fears losing her.