A/N: This is part ONE of TWO for the wedding night. The second part posts tomorrow. Please leave a little review if you feel so inclined.

I have done a wedding night before with "Shift." This one is different, and my ultimate goal was a balance of sweet and realistic in-character-ness. (Yeah, it's a word ...)

xx

CSotA


Wait...

When you're in love the way we are,

When every kiss and every touch,

And every night is like a dream come true

It's then you realize how small forever is,

As I now I do.

That's why I treasure all the moments of my life

With you.


May 16, 1925 ... Evening

The train comes to a stop, and she's startled out of her sleep by his soft voice in her ear.

"Mrs. Carson? We're here."

Her eyes open and she sees - quite closely - the weave of his coat, remarking at the same time that his hand is gently squeezing her forearm.

"Oh!" She realizes she'd fallen against his shoulder in her sleep, and she sits up and finds his eyes with hers.

"You've only just nodded off; you must be exhausted," he says.

"I'll be fine," she assures him, patting his hand before pulling her arm away.

They disembark and Mr. Carson arranges for a car to bring them to the hotel. Bags loaded, they climb into the back seat for the short ride.

"Mrs. Carson?" His voice is soft and inquisitive, and she smiles. "Are you alright?"

Drawing her lip underneath her teeth, she murmurs, "I quite forget you're speaking to me when you say that."

"I thought I'd have trouble saying it, but it does appear to roll right off my tongue."

"I'm fine." She pats his hand where it rests on her knee. "I promise."

She's looking out the window at the ocean as they speed by, unable to stop likening it to how they're speeding toward a new life together. She's a mixture of anxiety and joy tinged with fatigue, each trying to win out over the other as the wheels roll down the road.

They arrive and check into the hotel. It's quite a bit more posh than she was expecting, and he signs their names in the register as she examines the surroundings of the lobby: the gilded trim around the lift, the ornamental clock over the front desk, plush settees … It's overwhelming, and his hand at the small of her back centers her as he guides her toward the lift.

"Second floor," he says to the attendant.

"Of course, Sir."

They ride up in silence, not touching. When the doors open, she leads the way out but stops short in the corridor as she realizes she has no idea what the room number is. She follows him with a smirk, shaking her head at how strangely uncomfortable she is in this totally new situation. She's only ever stayed in an hotel once in her life, and it was so many years ago and definitely not as nice as the one Mr. Carson has booked for their honeymoon.

Booked and paid for. By Charles. Perhaps Charlie … She'll have to ask him.

They make their way into the room, and each stops to take in the details: it's fairly large (likely due to it being a corner room), there is a rather spacious ensuite bath, the linens are all done in tones of gold and deep brown, and there's a large window overlooking the ocean … and a rather enormous bed just to their right.

She swallows convulsively, and his hand trembles.

"It's … um ...," she manages.

"I had hoped you'd like it." He's clearly wary, and she reaches to squeeze his hand in reassurance.

"Oh, it's lovely. Truly. Just a bit ... well, overwhelming, I think."

He turns and dips his head toward her, brushing her lips quickly with his before returning and lingering on them for a few more moments.

"You are lovely," he whispers, brushing her cheek with the tip of his finger. "I am overwhelmed by that. The room? It's just detail."*

She blushes furiously … and, much to her embarrassment, has to stifle a yawn. But he just chuckles, and a knock on the door announces the arrival of their meager luggage. He takes the bags from the bellboy and tips him, then turns away to place the valises by the wardrobe.

"It's good that we had dinner on the train," he muses. "I'd not realized how late we'd be arriving."

She agrees, moving over to the window. "Do you mind if I open this a bit?"

"No, not at all. It's rather warm in here." He's not sure if it really is or if he just feels that way, if the anticipation and forced closeness and the presence of the bed are making him warmer than usual.

He'd not expected the bed to be so large, and he finds it rather intimidating.

She turns the window crank.

"It's stuck," she grunts, struggling to push it open. Before she knows it, he's directly behind her, reaching past her shoulder to give the window a hearty shove. It creaks open, quickly, and a gust of sea air blows in at them.

She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply - a cleansing breath of salty air, which clears her head and calms her. The sky is full of stars and the moon shines brightly, reflecting off the sea in brilliant shades of white.

"I love the sea," she murmurs, and she feels his hands on her shoulders, tugging her back gently; she complies, and finds herself resting back against his body before his arms wrap lightly around her in an easy embrace.

"I never used to, but I'll admit that you're making me quite fond of it," he says softly. He tilts his head and rests his cheek on her hair, and they remain like that for a few silent moments - the first peaceful ones they've had in days.

"We were going to unpack," she chuckles after a bit.

"Ah. Yes, we were." He doesn't let her go, and she laughs, turning in his arms and laying her hands on his chest.

"As lovely as this is, I wouldn't mind washing up after our trip," she admits as she looks up at him.

"Nor would I. Alright, then; you first. I'm going to go down for some wine, if that suits."

He backs away to fetch her suitcase, setting it on the rack so that she can open it.

Her face lights up and she nods. "That would be perfect, actually. Thank you." The wine, shared … a familiar comfort, a nightly ritual that will put them both at ease. She's thrilled that he thought of it.

He disappears with a smile, that boyish countenance that she had rarely seen over previous years but which she's seen so much in the past few days, and she wonders not for the first time if perhaps he's even happier than she'd imagined that they've finally, finally, made it to this point.

She unbuckles her bag and reaches in to pull out her outfits for the week, hanging them in the wardrobe before gathering the items she requires for tonight and heading to the ensuite. She closes the door behind her and hangs the new dressing gown, knickers, and nightie on the hook, niggling her lip and wondering once again if he will think it all a bit too risqué.

I never should have asked Anna to help me pick these out.

oOoOoOoOo

Mr. Carson returns with the wine and two glasses set on a tray, having insisted that no, they didn't need a room service waiter to deliver it, that he'd be more than happy to carry it up himself, that he is a butler, after all. Truth be told, he didn't want it out of his sight once it had been uncorked; he wanted full control over this small part of the evening, because he suspected the rest of it was going to be so very much out of his control, indeed.

Setting the tray on the small table by the window, he finally removes his jacket and hangs it, noting at once that his wife's clothes are already neatly arranged in the wardrobe and that she's left him quite a bit of room for his own things. He smiles broadly, appreciating the simplicity of her planning and packing. He knows she has precious few outfits that don't pertain to work, but while he understands that is in part due to her financial situation (her previous financial situation, he thinks with not a small bit of pride) he knows it's also because she simply never sees a need for excess. It's one of his favorite things about her.

He hears the water slosh as she gets into the tub and realizes she'll be a while. He unpacks, setting aside his pajamas and removing his shoes. As he pours the wine, he wonders if they will ever come to a point in their marriage when he'll simply bring her glass to her as she relaxes in the bath.

The thought is almost too much to bear, and he concentrates on myriad other minute details in order to redirect his mind toward some sort of decency.

It won't do to have her coming out of the bath and finding you in such a state, he scolds himself.

It's about twenty minutes more before she finally exits the bathroom, and she finds him sitting in the corner chair, a book on his knee, his spectacles adorning his face. A glance to her side tells her he's turned down the bed, which seems to be resplendent with extra sheets and pillows. The room has cooled considerably, but it's not chilly and so the fireplace remains untouched.

"You look quite distinguished in those, you know," she blurts out, a nod indicating the spectacles.

"Just as long as you don't tell anyone else I wear them," he smirks, not looking up. She watches as he finishes his chapter, removes his spectacles, and folds them before placing them and the book on the bedside table. "Not yet, anyhow."

Her heart fills with sweet joy as she digests his request; she hears his embarrassment at needing help to see the words on the page, and she understands only too well his reluctance to admit that he's getting on. She realizes fully how much he trusts her with his feelings and his pride, how he trusts her as he would trust no one else, and she vows for the second time that day - silently, now - to put her care for him above all else.

When he finally looks up at her, truly looks, he's simply stunned. His jaw drops slightly and his bushy eyebrows fly up.

She's turned to hang her traveling suit, and his eyes are raking over her body. He can't manage to focus on one particular thing, because it's all so new. Her hair hangs loosely - She's not even plaited it, he notes. There's a desire to run his fingers through it, and he sees how there are small, damp ringlets that frame her face. Her skin is flushed from the heat of the bath; the dressing gown she wears has sleeves that don't quite reach her wrists, and the fabric falls even further toward her elbow as she reaches up and out to hang things. The hemline is somewhere around the middle of her calves … and she's barefoot.

Barefoot. The utter domesticity of it has truly knocked him over. It's a sign of comfort, of what life will be like in their home.

When she turns around again she catches him staring at her feet.

"I brought these lovely slippers that I have," she says softly, "but I foolishly forgot them when I took my things in for the bath." She bends to retrieve them from where she'd left them by the bed, and he needs to close his eyes and breathe very deeply to regain a small amount of control.

"Mr. Carson?" She's worried for him now, although she's fairly certain that it's she who is responsible for his current state of speechlessness. She moves over to where he sits and reaches out to card her fingers through the hair at his temple. "Are you alright?"

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, awestruck. "And I am so much more than alright."

She blushes once again, amazed at how he is always able to bring her to such a state so easily. "Thank you."

The wine sits on the table beside them and she goes over to it, takes up both glasses, and hands him one before clinking her glass to his.

"To us," she says simply.

"To us."

There's not another chair in the room and she's reluctant to simply sit in his lap, so she moves over to the bed and climbs in; the look on his face as she does so makes her question if she was a bit too forward, however.

"This is rather extravagant, a glass of wine in bed," she jokes, and his laughter echoes in the room and calms her fears.

"It is, but I daresay you deserve it, after having planned this day so marvelously. I don't know that I've actually thanked you for that."

"I am just happy it all turned out well," she says, smiling. "Thank you again for agreeing to the school house."

He sips his wine and then gets up to place the glass on his nightstand, noticing that she took the side of the bed facing the window and left him (much to his happiness) the side nearest the door.

"I won't be but a few minutes," he explains, gathering up his things.

"Take your time," she encourages him. "The tub is quite nice. I do believe even you'd fit comfortably in it."

He answers with a nod and heads in, closing the door firmly behind himself.

Mrs. Carson lets out a very deep breath. Her nerves are completely shot after the wedding and overseeing all of the details for which he's just so lovingly thanked her, a feeling that is now completely superseded by her embarrassment at having just presented herself before him in thin nightclothes that barely hide anything as far as she can tell. Every curve is accentuated and highlighted, and she's not sure that's such a good thing.

Although he didn't seem to mind, she muses.

She smiles a bit, thinking that perhaps this night ahead of them, which has been tumbling through her mind for months on end in an endless loop of whispers, kisses, touches, and downright fear, might end up better than she'd ever dared to hope … because she knows he could speak countless words about love and beauty and everything else, but at the end of the day it will be the passion and love that were just shining in his eyes that will calm and fortify her the most.

She sits back against the pillows and pulls her own book onto her lap to read. She almost didn't even bring a book at all, but the practical side of her brain reminded her that not every moment of their honeymoon would be spent unclothed and engaged in moments of passion. And she's glad of it now, because without it she'd be sitting in the bed going stir crazy and counting the seconds as they tick by on the clock.

Yes, a bit of distraction is a good thing.

She makes it through two chapters before she hears the water drain from the tub. She steadies herself, sipping her wine once more, and she's halfway through the third chapter when he emerges from the ensuite, clad in rather dashing burgundy pajamas. They look new, she notes happily, and he's clean-shaven again. It all puts her a bit more at ease, knowing he had similar thoughts to her own, that tonight is special and deserving of some extra attention, and she marks her page and sets the book aside.

"Much better," he declares. "You were right; the tub is marvelous. We should see about getting one for the cottage."

"I usually am right, Mr. Carson," she quips, and it puts a smile on his face and instantly changes the atmosphere of the room; where a bit of anxiety and fear had crept in before, there was now a sense of the familiar, of their old ways in which they'd become so comfortable. "You should know that by now."

"Elsie ..." he begins nonchalantly.

"Mm?" Her heart pounds at the sound of her name in his deep, rumbling baritone.

"Charles. Please. When we're here … when we're alone … I've been just Mr. Carson for far too long."

She nods. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry - old habits." She pats the bed beside her and he slips underneath the covers and rests his back against the pillows she's propped up for him. "And we're different people now, in a way, aren't we? Although I do love being called 'Mrs. Carson,' I freely admit."

"Well, there's always the chance that I'll slip up myself. You've been my 'Mrs. Hughes' for such a very long time anyhow."

"Have I?" she whispers.

He reaches for his glass and the wine and refills his goblet and hers. He raises his toward her once again.

"For many years," he reminds her.

"Ah, yes," she smiles, drinking her wine. "I remember."

They sit in silence, drinking their wine and each a bit nervous about how the rest of the evening would play out.

"Should I light the fire?"

She shakes her head. "No, not unless you want to."

"No, no, I just worried you might be chilly."

"I'm fine, truly."

She finishes her wine and sets the glass on the table. When she turns back and readjusts herself a bit, she feels him move a bit nearer to her.

"Would you like to … come closer?" he asks, extending his arm. His hesitance is endearing and speaks of how his own lingering nerves mimic her own.

She tucks herself in by his side, awkwardly at best.

"I won't bite, you know."

She swats his chest before resting her head on it. "I know that," she chides. She sighs when the weight of his arm covers her and he gives her a gentle squeeze. "It's just all so new, I suppose. I feel I don't quite know where to put my arm, for example."

He chuckles at the truth in her words, at the honest awkwardness of it all. They sit quietly for a few moments, during which he slowly runs his fingers through her long tresses … and during which she yawns at least three times.

"Somebody is exhausted," he says gently, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"Guilty. But -"

"But nothing," he says, tapping his fingertip gently on her nose. "You need to rest."

"Charles, I'll be fine. And surely … I mean," she stammers, flushing, "surely that's not what you expected …"

"Ohhh, no. Stop right there, please." He reaches down to touch underneath her chin, tilting her head until she's looking into his eyes. "I expect absolutely nothing,Elsie. What I hope is that you'll enjoy a week away from the house, as we learn together what it means to be married. And what I know is that I'd be a poor husband, indeed, if I were to keep my wife up far past what is an advisable hour given her current state of fatigue."

She sits herself up more and leans over him, taking his face in her hands and pulling it toward her for a kiss.

"I love you, Charles," she murmurs against his lips, resting her forehead against his. "I'm not sure I realized quite how much before today."

He sits forward to kiss her more deeply, and she feels her heart skip a beat as his hands span the width of her scantily-clad back.

When they break apart, both are breathless.

"I'm not sure I'm tired anymore," she whispers.

Charles clears his throat, but when she sees his eyebrow climb she knows she's already lost the battle.

"I disagree," he says. He shifts their pillows down and lies on his, then helps her readjust her own.

She lies back a bit awkwardly, her arms resting on the blankets, which are tucked up over her chest. It feels strange, but she's not sure quite what she's supposed to do.

"My hair will be in a state if I don't plait it," she realizes aloud.

"I'll brush it in the morning for you, if you like."

She looks over at him. "Would you like that?"

He smiles sweetly, his eyes crinkling in the way she loves. "I would, actually. Very much."

Charles reaches to turn off the lamp, and then rolls onto his side. He reaches for her hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses her knuckles before scooting a bit closer to her and encouraging her to roll over a bit.

She readily complies, facing the window and the moonlight that is now peeking in. The tide is out and the waves are calm, and it lends a sense of peace to the night.

She takes a deep breath and scoots back a bit, and she smiles when she feels the weight of her husband's arm as he lays it across her waist and pulls her into his embrace, spooning her petite frame with his much larger one and making her feel completely safe and secure. His other arm slides underneath her pillow, and he leans over to kiss her cheek, her ear, her temple, and the corner of her mouth.

"Rest," he whispers into her ear as she yawns widely.

"We've waited so long for this," she murmurs, hugging his arm closer to her. "I feel awful to be nodding off."

"Don't," he insists. "It's been a long day for us both, and neither of us slept much last night, either. At least, you didn't."

He hesitates, and she feels it, senses it.

"Go on."

She feels him kiss the back of her head and he murmurs into her hair, "I'm so happy just to be falling asleep with you in my arms, my darling wife. I was just thinking that, for right now, this is better than I'd ever imagined. I find that I don't want to rush any bit of it away."

"Mm," she hums, her eyes growing heavy. "It is rather nice. And I believe I'll enjoy waking up in your arms, too. You're not the only one who's been imagining this, Charles."

His laughter rumbles against her back, and he pulls her impossibly closer as they both drift off to sleep.


Disclaimer - I am aware that part of this resembles another fic that came out a little while ago. I'd already written this well before that and, after chatting with that author, decided not to change anything.

* - Yeah, inspired by a film. Bonus points if you knew which one. :) And don't shoot me - the rest of the wedding night is coming tomorrow!