A week since the funeral and Carson was still climbing the stairs every whip-stitch to check on his precious Lady Mary. Elsie wanted to be cross with the girl for causing such stress but found she couldn't. She shoo-ed him upstairs and with quiet reigning throughout the house, she made her way upstairs to his room. Opening the door, she peered in to find him sleeping against the headboard, his reading glasses at the tip of his nose, hands clutching the book in his lap. What happens next?

His glasses have slipped to the tip of his nose, his book is falling from his hands and he is rumbling out the slightest little snore. He is wearing the same pyjamas he has been wearing for years, the ones she had gifted him the Christmas after she had nursed him after the collapse. They are well worn, soft, obviously comfortable.

She slides into the room, closes the door behind her and sinks down on the chair next to the bed. She pulls the book from his hands, lays it on the nightstand, carefully takes his glasses, folds them, places them on top of the book. She brushes the curl from his forehead, but the stubborn lock falls back immediately.

"You take it all too much to heart..." She says to him, quietly. She needs to say it, but she doesn't want to wake him up. She needs to get the words out, but he doesn't necessarily need to hear them.

"She has her mother and father. Her sister. She has her child as a comfort. You need to take it easier. I know she is appreciative of your constant care, but you... " She swallows, finding it uncomfortable to say the truth out loud: "Are needed elsewhere too."

She strokes his upper arm, his biceps are well-defined still. He radiates a warmth she has been missing for the past week. She won't pretend the passing of Mr Crawley hasn't affected her. It has. Greatly so. She had liked his boyish charm, the way he was ready to take on the big task that was managing Downton. She liked his kindness towards the staff and his bumbling way of learning the ways of the aristocracy. He had needed a few lessons - Mr Molesley had been frank enough about being stood watching a grown man dress himself – but he learned fast and he had been a great champion of Tom - Mr Branson.

For her that had been enough.

"I know you love that girl, I do..." Her fingers slip down the crook of his elbow, his forearm. "And it's alright... but... you need to be careful of yourself. You need to be careful you don't give more than you have to give, that she doesn't ask more of you than is possible..."

Her hand closes around his palm and fingers.

"You are all tired out..." She sighs before rising from the comfortable chair, her hand still holding his and she leans over. Kisses his brow.

"You sleep, my man." Kisses him again, softly touches his cheek with her free hand. "Sleep and be better by morning."

She holds his hand to her lips, then releases it, pulls the covers around him, tucking him in.

She walks around the bed to turn the light off and opens the door. She stands in the doorway, thinking about how this big man hides his big heart under rules and rigidity and that there are few who get to see through it. Thinks she is lucky she is one of those few and that perhaps she should go upstairs.

Look in on Lady Mary.

The girl might like a cup of tea.

A/N: This one is a bit fluffier! Like I promised! Hope you'll enjoy it and don't forget to review!