"Mrs. Hughes?" He found her standing in the darkness, staring out as the rain lashed against the library windows. He worried, she had been winding herself tighter and tighter over the past week or so, ever since that first visit from Sergeant Willis. Stepping up behind her, careful to keep his voice low and calm, "I'm on your side…" His hand hovered near her shoulder, almost afraid to touch her for fear she would shatter into a thousand pieces at his feet. What happens next?

He was almost too afraid to touch her, but not quite. His hand finally graced her shoulder, warm, gentle, and he hoped comforting. She didn't crumble, as he'd feared. She stood ever solid, not turning her gaze from the library window.

"I know," she said simply. He was on her side, even if they were at odds more and more lately. And she didn't like it any more than he did. How many lies had she told him over the past few months? She didn't dare count. But the guilt from it settled over her like layer upon layer of dust. She twisted her hands together and stared out at the rain. She was made unclean with all her lying, but what else could she do? They were not her secrets and yet they all became her burden. Heavier and heavier. Edith. Anna. Mr. Bates. Pictures, train tickets, a witness. She herself didn't know what to think anymore, or what to do. A single pillar cannot keep a great house from falling down.

"Mrs. Hughes?" he asked again, unwilling to leave her in such a state. She finally turned towards him, her eyes cast down at his shoes. Perhaps he was the biggest secret of all. Lying to him made her feel impossibly guilty after the fact. She found herself loving him in the cracks of their friendship. There were little glimpses if you chose to look for them. The easy way they'd held hands at the beach. In their peaceful evenings over a glass of sherry when they weren't fighting, or working themselves half to death. They would have to be daft not to see it by now, and perhaps they were. His words had far more power over her than they should. He could her hurt her so easily now, and she knew it was all because she let him. His disappointment in her cut so deep, when years ago it would have been water off a duck's back. That was her fault. That was the price you paid when you let someone in to your heart. Someone who very well may not love you back.

She gave her head a little shake, still unable to look at him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. I was just…away."

"I wish you'd tell me what was bothering you so."

"I don't think you would, Mr. Carson."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she quickly interrupted. "And besides, I can't and that's all there is to it."

"Try," he urged her, his hand still lingering on her shoulder. "Please?"

She looked up at him, his eyes so warm and inviting. It made her breath catch and she immediately berated herself internally for it. He watched the emotions play across her face with concern.

"In any words you can manage," he added. He was never going to get the particulars on anything she was deliberately holding back. But he had to let her know that he was on her side, that he never meant to hurt her, even though he knew he had. When had his words become so sharp? She cut through his defenses so easily, and yet he found himself to be gruff, irritable, even unfeeling towards her at times.

Her voice was very quiet, but very steady. "The house is becoming very… stifling."

"I see," he replied evenly.

"I, too, dislike it when we don't agree, Mr. Carson. And I don't like it when we are not honest with each other."

"Have you been dishonest with me, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And do you believe I've been dishonest with you?"

She blinked in surprise, that he hadn't integrated her further on her own dishonestly with him. "I wouldn't know," she supposed.

"I think I have," he confessed.

"Oh?"

"Would you like me to be honest with you, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked, standing up straighter.

She hesitated for a moment. She didn't think she could bare a single unhappy word out of him, or god forbid yet another secret. But her caregiving instincts took over yet again. "Yes, I would like you to be honest with me, Mr. Carson."

"Very well." He put his hands on both her shoulders now and leaned over, placing a very gentle, lingering kiss on her lips.

"I love you," he murmured. "I don't know what could be more honest than telling you, and it was starting to feel dishonest to keep it from you."

He studied her face, hoping for a positive reaction. To his surprise she started to tear up. "Elsie…"

Her voice cracked. "I have been so very dishonest with you, Charles. About so many things."

"It doesn't matter."

"How can it not?"

"Because if you could have told me the truth, you would have. Never have I know you to be intentionally hurtful or malicious, and I've seen nothing to indicate that's changed."

She nodded, tears starting to slip down her cheeks. Somehow he knew, or perhaps had guessed, precisely what she needed to hear in that moment.

"There is one thing I think I can tell you now," she said decisively.

"Mmm?"

She looked up at him. "I love you, too. More than anything." And then she really did dissolve into tears, at the great weight that lifted from her shoulders. They could just say it. Whatever the consequences were for them down the road didn't matter. They could say it.

He pulled her close to him, enveloping her in a great hug and letting her cry into his chest. He leaned over to whisper softly in her ear.

"There is something incredibly wonderful about you, Elsie Hughes. And you don't have to tell me a thing for me to be certain that it's true."

Her tears slowed, and she turned her head up at him. "Thank you for that."

He simply nodded and bent his head again to kiss her, and she responded by clutching at his lapels and pulling herself even closer. He couldn't kiss away all of her pain. But he was going to do his best to try.

End.