A/N: Guys! All of the places I mention are real, even The Logan (chosen for obvious reason, though). Shovels & Rope is a real, modern, rockabilly husband-and-wife duo. My hubby and I love them, and I highly recommend their music (most of it isn't as melancholic as the song I've quoted here) and "Lay Low" just fit SO well here, I had to add it.

Anyway, thanks again for reading, reviewing and keeping this AU alive! This could wind up being a monster of a story, I think.

~CeeCee

"Lizzy! Bee!" Isobel Grant's booming voice rang out across The Logan's dining room, turning the heads of the other, less boisterous diners. Bee and Elsie started giggling from their semi-secluded booth, simultaneously shushing her and waving her over.

"What's the occasion, might I ask? Not complaining, but this is a bit bumped up from tacos at Joe & Pete's," Isobel remarked as they hugged and kissed in greeting.

"Bee thinks she's being funny," Elsie said, rolling her eyes.

"Bee is funny, Lizzy," Isobel responded, shrugging out of her coat and passing it off to the young host, who appeared at her elbow. "Thank you, good sir," she said, mock-formally, saluting the guy and sitting across from her friends. She reached for the bottle of red sitting on the table, poured herself a glass.

"She came here with Charlie the other day," Bee stage-whispered.

"Aha! Antagonistic humor, my favorite," Izzy laughed, sipped her wine. "Any movement there, Liz?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

"'Second verse, same as the first…'" Elsie lilted back to her friends, sipped her own glass, rolled her eyes, said nothing more.

"Well, I have some news on that front, myself," Isobel stated. "I mean, my own front, not yours."

"What exactly are we talking about?" Bee made a show of looking down at her chest. "What fronts? Whose fronts?" And they all dissolved into laughter. When they calmed down, Isobel continued,

"Listen, so, there's a new guy at work," she started. "A doctor. He's got an interesting background; he worked in Toronto for a while, in this volunteer clinic that provided clean needles and a safe place to get high to serious cases, to avoid unintentional overdosing," she shook her head, continued. "His perspective is…pretty different than mine, to say the least. He's basically had the mindset for the past year, 'just keep them alive' and deal with the other shit later, if at all."

Isobel, who was a psychiatrist, was a social worker at a local clinic that focused on helping people battle substance abuse. Most of her patients had the double whammy of drug addiction and mental illness. Elsie didn't know how she did it, but she was grateful every day for her friend. That was how they'd met; Izzy was critical in placing Becky in the group home she'd lived in for the past dozen years.

"So our set-up is a total change for him, dealing with people who are ostensibly clean, working on recovery, getting their lives back together," she shook head, smiling a little. "I feel like he and I argue about something vital at least twenty times a day, but he's got the most adorable mustache, and he's just, well, a good guy."

"We're listening," Elsie grinned, topped them all off. The waitress came over, and they ordered another bottle, and dinner. When she left, she and Bee turned back to Izzy. "Okay, tell us more about cute mustache guy."

"Rich," Izzy replied. "Richard Clarkson. He's taking me to Nektar for dinner tomorrow, though we've had drinks a few times after work in the past few weeks."

"Talk about fancy," Bee replied, then paused. "How do you feel about it, really, Iz?"

"Weirdly okay," Isobel shook her head. "Reg's been gone for so long now, I think it would be worse if I didn't want to date anyone. I mean, I'm freaking out right now, girls, but because, you know, I haven't even held anyone's hand in at least eight years, or more, and this guy's got some potential, you know?"

"Has he been married before? Rich?" Elsie piped up, trying to sort her feelings out. She knew it wasn't easy for Isobel to jump back into dating, but she and Reg's marriage had been a solid one, built on mutual respect, love and friendship. Unlike her own.

"No, but I know he's been serious with a few people, for sure, long-term situations," Isobel responded. "And to answer your next question: no kids, and yes, he knows about Matt. I mean, I never shut up about him, so it would be hard to work with me and not hear a dozen different things about my 'amazing son' every day."

"How's that boy, speaking of?" Bee grinned, and so did Elsie. Everyone loved Matt Grant.

"Oh! That was the other thing I wanted to tell you guys," Iz exclaimed. "You'll never guess who he's running around with now, like, who's in his circle of friends at school – Sybil Crawley." Matt Grant was in his last year of law at Stamford.

"Get out!" Elsie exclaimed. "Are they dating? Do you know – Rob Crawley, Cora, the girls – they're all coming for the holidays, coming here. We're throwing this big shindig next week at Donk's, Rob's orders."

"No, they aren't dating, thought I don't think Matt would object to that. I get the sense that Sybil's just not interested in that right now, though she's got admiring parties of all genders and persuasions beating down her door," Izzy shook her head. "Matt refers to her as 'Doc Fem', short for 'Doctor Feminist', and he says it like it's a good thing, smart man, or he'd be getting a slap upside the head from yours truly."

"Maybe she'll change her mind, they'll both be here for the holidays," Elsie mused. Matt Grant and Sybil Crawley – now that'd be a good-looking pair. And two of the nicest young people she knew.

"Nah, I think he just asked her out, well, because she's smart and kind and gorgeous, so why not? He certainly didn't seem to be carrying a torch for her, or anything," Izzy shrugged as the waiter set their meals in front of them. "And the last sort of fun thing – and I'll shut up and let someone else talk, promise – is the kids figured out that they're related somehow, on Reg's side. Like, seventh cousins or something, however that works. There's a great-great-grandfather in common or something. Guess the Grants are the Crawleys' poor relations." She chuckled, dug into her meal.

"The Grants have done just fine for themselves, I think," Bee interjected, and Elsie eyed her carefully. Bee and Al owned a farm, and they ran a well-loved but modest shop attached to it – produce, homemade jams, pies, cakes, to-go prepped meals, that sort of thing. They were firmly blue collar, and Iz's collar was certainly white. Elsie was the glue that held the three of them together, and she knew it, though the other two loved each other well enough.

"No doubt, Bee, no doubt, and I fly my privilege flag knowingly. But the Crawleys are a whole 'nother level, like Monopoly money level," she laughed.

"You mean Reg never bought you a bar, Iz? Not even a small one?" Bee responded tartly, and they all laughed, and Elsie breathed out, because it was fine, it was more than fine, it was great. These were the best people in the world, in her world, at least.

oooOOOooo

Thursday night madness was in full swing, and she jumped onto the floor to bus tables, help Daisy and Anna out a little. The entire place was on their feet, dancing, shouting, stomping, clapping, as Charles and the crew belted out their own tonked-up version of "American Girl". Gladdie took the lead on it, with Charles backing her up, and the crowd was loving every second of it.

Elsie expertly wove her way through a cluster of sweaty, thirty-something women, singing delightedly in each other's faces.

Oh, yeah, alright…

She couldn't help but grin at them, dumped few empties into her bussing bin. She swung around in an arc around the bulk of dancers, towards the stage, gracefully squatting and grabbing a glass here, a beer bottle there.

Take it easy baby, make it last (make it last all night!)…

She blew a stray strand of hair out of her eye, passed by the stage. Charles tipped a wink at her, she tipped one back, her heart fluttering a little in her chest.

She was, an Ammmerrican girl…

She finished her sweep, headed back towards the bar, where Anna relieved her of the full bin. The song finished up, and the crowd screamed and clapped in appreciation for the band, slapping each other on the back for their hard work on the dance floor.

"It's a good night, tonight," Anna noted, as Daisy came up next to them, nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, good vibes, I think, not that it's ever bad in here," Elsie replied.

"People are tipping like crazy though," Anna shook her head, grinning. "Not complaining, but we've either got more tourists than usual, or everyone's Christmas bonus came a little early."

"Some nights are just good nights, just like that – like this," Elsie replied, and looked back up at the stage. Charles was wiping his very sweaty forehead with a bandana. He grabbed the mic and spoke to the crowd.

"Hey guys," he said.

"HEY CHARLIE!" They yelled back.

"Listen, I'm old," he laughed. "I'm dyin' up here."

"NO WAY!"

"Yes way," he replied, swigged some water. He grinned over at Gladys, Tom and Chuck. "Elsie and Andy are gettin' me set up with a drink, right, Elspeth?" He caught her eye, and she felt a nudge, turned. Andy was holding a whiskey, up, in his hand. She took it, held it aloft.

"It's waitin' here, at the bar!" She shouted, playing along. "As long as you keep these people happy, you hear? This is a fine establishment I'm running."

"I hear that," he paused, pretended to think. Man, he could lay it on thick, sometimes. "Keep you guys happy, and she lets me sing and drink here, as long as I want."

The crowd screamed and stomped.

"We've got something new for you guys, well, maybe some of you have heard this one. It's a slow one, before we take a break, so if there's someone you're interested in smoochin', grab 'em now. With permission, of course," he laughed, and so did the crowd on the dance floor, as they paired off. "By Shovels & Rope, a husband and wife rockabilly wonder."

"I love those guys," Andy piped up.

"You were playing them in the car last week, on the way over, right?" Daisy grinned over at him. "They were good."

"This song's called 'Lay Low' – Gladdie and I will be singin' it together," Charles finished. "And Tom's gonna make you all cry with the bass part on this one."

Andy was looking at Daisy, then at Elsie. Elsie rolled her eyes at him, inclined her head. Just a little.

"Daisy, wanna dance?" Andy spit the request out.

"Yeah, sure," she replied without hesitation, though her cheeks grew red. "If it's cool by you, boss lady?"

"My god, please, go, dance, the pair of you," Elsie rolled her eyes, pushed them out onto the dance floor. She'd never heard of Shovels & Rope, but was intrigued as Charles began singing:

"Well I probably should be
Drug out to sea
Where I can't hurt no one
And no one can hurt me…"

Elsie closed her eyes, listened to the words. That's me. He's singing about me, though he doesn't know it. Gladys jumped in on harmonies on the second verse, and her heart squeezed at the sound of their voices rubbing together, so plaintively:

"…Of the letters and the notes
The ones that you wrote
Did they keep me afloat?
Or just wrap 'round my throat
Like a noose on a rope?
Probably both…

So lay low, baby,

I won't be back anytime, soon

If it gets too lonely…"

She finally opened her eyes and found Charles staring right at her, as he and Gladdie sang:

"I don't know what to do
What I'd do if I knew
But we go through our day
And get by and get through…"

And she turned away, breaking his gaze, bent to get a glass, pour a drink, do anything but look back up at that stage, listen to the words of that song, because her heart was cracking open, right here, at the bar, and it was too much. The appreciative but subdued applause broke her reverie, as did the small rush of drinkers to the bar that followed.

Andy bounded back behind the bar, looking as elated as Elsie felt confused. She and Charles had had a balance, for years, nearly a decade, and now…something was tipping, tipping, tipping.

She wasn't sure how much longer either of them could keep things holding steady, just as they were.

She wasn't sure if she wanted them to, in any case.