Hi there, darling ones! How are your holidays going? I hope well.

Here everything is dreadfully dead and silent, I enjoyed myself last week because a friend of mine stayed for a week in my little house, but now she's gone and boredom found me again!

Anyway, I hope I can work properly on this fanfiction, since I have a lot of free time, homework excluded :P

The title is a little tribute to my beloved Meryl Streep *blushes and giggles*

As always, a big THANKS to Ame and to all of you who continue to read and review this story, I love you!

Enjoy (?)

Chapter Ten: It's Complicated

Charles rose, more tired than he should be that morning. Three weeks had passed since his return to Downton, and he had slept very little.
Elsie Hughes had been giving him the cold shoulder since his return from London, and the effects on him were noticeable.

Not that she refused to work professionally with him as she had always done, no, but when it came time to share a joke or have a chat with him in the evenings, she vanished.
She preferred to spend her evenings in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore or in the Servants' Hall, mending socks in company of Anna, Mr. Bates, and the maids.

The servants sensed the bad blood between the housekeeper and the butler; they rarely spoke now, even at lunch or dinner, but no one dared ask.
Once Charles heard Daisy ask Mrs. Patmore why the two heads of the house behaved that way, and Beryl has silenced her with a "best if you mind your own business, Daisy".

During her few half days off, Elsie usually went to town only to return in the evening just in time for dinner.
He hadn't yet discovered where she went.

His mind kept jumping to the possibility of a romantic entanglement.
He shook his head. No, that wasn't in Mrs. Hughes' character.

And yet it wouldn't be the first time she walked out with a man. His hands itched at the thought of Joe Burns.

No, he was sure she went to town only to visit some friend of hers. That was the only possible explanation.
He almost laughed at himself as he stood up and went to wash his face, hoping to clear out his mind as well.

He hated those thoughts. They haunted him especially at night, and kept him from sleep.

The situation was almost a paradox. Thoughts of Elsie the past few years always haunted him, but they were sweet thoughts, tinged with affection, love and, recently, even lust.

But now, suddenly, thoughts of her were filled with such grief, such pain. It affected not only his thoughts and his sleep, but his whole person.

Elsie Hughes was more than a colleague to him, she always had been, but he had realized it too late… too late to solve the situation.

What was he thinking? Did he really believe that with a simple apology he could make up for all he had done? He didn't know if Elsie Hughes felt something for him, but if she did, surely they were doomed now. And it was all his fault.

"Good morning, Doctor Clarkson," Charles greeted as he opened the heavy front door.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," replied the other man, stepping inside.

"Are you here to visit little Master Crawley?" Charles couldn't help but ask.

"Indeed I am, Mr. Carson. I'm here to check on him and Lady Mary as well."

Charles straightened his back. "Very well, I'll show you upstairs."

Only then did he notice a woman exiting by herself out of Dr Clarkson's car. The butler cursed himself for not noticing her before.
Since when did thoughts of Elsie affect even his work and professionalism?

"I'm deeply sorry, ma'am, I did not see you…" Carson started.

"It's quite alright Carson, no need to worry," replied a soft voice with a slight Manchester accent.

"Oh, good morning Mrs. Crawley," he greeted, visibly relieved. He didn't know why but the fact that it was her and not another woman, relaxed him a bit.

He had always underestimated her. He'd disliked her, at first, for being a doctor's wife who had come to deprive the Dowager of the hospital, and for having a son that would inherit the Abbey in place of Lady Mary.
He disliked her because she had tried to render the Abbey a permanent convalescent house, for her work with prostitutes, and for the friction between her and Mrs Hughes regarding Ethel.

He had never truly considered her part of the family, and realized that Mrs. Crawley herself probably did not feel much part of the family either, now that her son was dead.

"I met Dr Clarkson on the way to the hospital," Isobel said, censuring the fact that she was going there to meet him. "He told me he was coming here and he offered me a lift that I accepted eagerly. It's been more than a week since I've seen my little George."

"Very well, ma'am, if you'd follow me."

They followed the butler inside and neither of them spoke another word.

Elsie was in her parlour checking the linen rota when a knock on the door interrupted her. She raised her head and felt herself stiffen.

"Enter," she heard herself say.

Isobel's frame appeared in the doorway and her shoulders immediately relaxed. "Good morning, Elsie. I came here to visit my grandson and I thought I might pop in here for a while, if you don't mind me," she explained with a smile.

"Of course I don't mind you, Isobel. Please come in and take a sit."

Mrs. Crawley sat and smiled at the housekeeper. "So, how are you? It's been a while since we've seen one another."

"It has been almost two weeks, but I feel rather the same I'm afraid."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Please do."

"Hasn't he explained why he didn't write while he was away?" Isobel asked.

Elsie shook her head. "I didn't give him time to explain for fear he might come up with some cockamamie story… I know I would have believed him like the fool I am."

"You're not a fool, Elsie. Please don't say that." Isobel's face softened at her friend's words.

Mrs Hughes didn't reply.

"Maybe if you had let him explain he would have told you the truth. You should have more faith in him."

Elsie sighed, "I don't know, I feel like… like he doesn't want to deepen our relationship. Maybe I was the only one that saw a change. In the months before he left for London he seemed different, but it must have been my imagination. I don't ask for much, do I? Why couldn't he have just written to me, as he used to?"

"May I speak to you frankly?" Isobel asked once again.

"Certainly."

"I think you should give him the chance to say what he has to say. You never gave him the chance for an explanation… maybe now he doesn't feel that he has the right to say anything."

"Well, now the mess is said and done and there's nothing I can do to solve it," Mrs. Hughes protested stubbornly.

Isobel frowned. "I don't think so. If you only had more patience with him…"

"The thing is, I'm tired of waiting for him. I'm tired of suffering because of him and his words, because he fears to feel something or doesn't feel anything for me."

"I've already told you but I'll repeat myself. I think he does care a lot about you, he's just shyer about his feelings. It might be he doesn't know how to reveal them or fears a rejection. He is a man, after all, he doesn't share our keen eye for perception." Isobel winked.

Elsie laughed quietly and, for the first time in two weeks, the smile reached her eyes.

Richard was going down the stairs when the booming voice of Charles Carson reached him.
"Doctor Clarkson!"

"Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"May I have a word?"

"Of course. How can I help you?"

"The thing is, since I've returned from London… I'm sleeping very little. I have difficulties falling asleep at night."

The Doctor looked briefly at his pocket watch. "I'm late for my rounds at the hospital, but we can see each other tomorrow or… when is your next half day?"

Charles thought about it for a few seconds. "I could take a half day off, I suppose."

"Well, if you're able to come tomorrow afternoon, my office at the hospital is open. If not, call me and I'll come for you here."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Goodbye, Mr Carson. Have a nice day."

Carson sighed in relief. Maybe now he could get some sleep and get this whole mess sorted out.

Want to encourage poor Charles and make Elsie see reason? Leave a review! ;)