A/N: This is mostly to help me get back into daily writing. Not really any real plot here.

Carson House

"Go sit at the table, baby," she told him gently. Baby hid beneath her skirt, his socks and tiny brown shoes the only bit of him visible. He giggled when she rubbed his hidden head, encouraging him to move, then he turned to grab the back of her drawers. Elsie stood before the hob cooking bangers and eggs in a pan for breakfast. Charlie entered the room adjusting his tie around his neck, his eyes un-looking. He clutched the morning newspaper in his hand; it wrinkled against his fingers as he fixed his tie. He moved quietly to the table where his coffee sat waiting. She touched baby's head again, and he bent to hug her legs. "Go sit with dada," she tried again.

Charlie's eyes finally focused, searching the room for Calum. They finally settled on the rather large and quite wiggly lump in Elsie's skirt. "Calum," he called, and baby poked his head out, laughing. His eyebrows lifted in disapproval as Calum crawled out, his attention quickly shifting to his wooden toy train beneath the table. "We ought to knick this habit of his, mumma. I'd hate to find him in church one day climbing up some woman's leg."

"He's far too shy around other people for that to be any real concern," she said over baby's train sounds—real trains scared him, they learned a few months ago, and he would have a fit if he were anywhere near one.

Charlie hummed, turning his attention to the newspaper. "It appears the rumors of their arrival are true," he said with great disdain. "The local paper confirms it."

"Surely they don't mean to ask you back."

And he brightened, but attempted to hide his smile from her. "Oh, I doubt that very much." His departure a few years back left Lady Mary quite disappointed. Elsie was far too ill then to care about anyone's feelings on the matter, much less the family's, but part of her did feel a certain satisfaction when Charlie retired to care for her and their weak little babe, after years of having to choose Downton Abbey over their own desires and feelings.

"Sharwee," said Calum in a sweet voice, making his toy train ride up Charlie's leg. Charlie scooted his chair out and scooped him up onto his lap, and the wooden train continued its adventure up Charlie's stomach, nearing his face.

"I should arrive back before his nap," he told her, grabbing the toy before it reached his chin and placing it down onto the table. He removed his watch from his vest pocket to check the time, avoiding baby's mischievous hands. "I wish you hadn't given Emily the time off," he said looking back up at her.

"I can take care of my own son, thank you," she said as she transported their breakfast from the pan to their plates. And baby slid from dada's lap back onto the floor again—Charlie, turned to his newspaper. "What time does the bus come?"

"About half an hour," he said as Elsie placed the plates down onto the table.

"Calum," she said, holding her hand out for him, "come sit now."

"Toast?" said Charlie, observing his breakfast with raised eyebrows and a judgmental stare.

"It's coming," said Elsie, her posture bent to reach baby. A sharp stabbing pain shot into her left hip, and she massaged it gently—attempting to hide the pain from Charlie. "We can walk with you to the bus stop, if you'd like."

"Baby, come out from under there," said Charlie, a bit sternly. He then turned to Elsie. "It's a bit of a walk, dear. I think it best you stay here—what time are the Smiths arriving?"

The Smiths were the couple booked for the night; they saw very little of newlyweds whenever they stayed at Carson House, for reasons that never seemed appropriate to discuss. It seemed odd, however, that they were only staying for the night—but it was business, and that was all that truly mattered. "One o'clock ," she said, "but they said they might be later."

"I should be back before then," he said, setting his newspaper aside to grab Calum, and placing him in the seat nearest to him. Elsie went to fetch the toast. "That is, if the bus keeps on schedule." The bus had been ten minutes late one week—months ago—but Charlie still felt bitter about it.

"This constant back and forth to the house and Downton is a bit tiresome, isn't it?" she said. And Charlie reached for some toast as she placed the plate down onto the table. "It might be wise to invest in a car."

He visibly tensed. Baby grabbed his train from the table and resumed his playing, train sounds and all. "I'll invest in a car the same day man walks on the moon, my love."

"Mr. Branson says it's become more common—soon everyone will have cars," she continued to tease.

"Not likely," he muttered.

She kissed his wrinkled forehead; he patted her bum. Baby again slid to hide beneath the table with his toy tight in his hands, and she sat with a gentle huff. She felt baby lift her skirt to hug her knees. "Calum," she called softly. Baby wiggled beneath her. "Come sit here," she said, patting her lap, and baby climbed up to her.

"Baby's bed comes Wednesday," said Charlie, cutting his egg, the yolk spilling out. He split a slice of toast and dipped it into the yolk. Elsie grabbed a piece of toast for Calum to eat.

"I'm a bit worried about his new bed," she told Charlie as baby showed her his train. She smiled sweetly at it while he attempted to feed the toast to the toy. "He's so fond of his cot." He discovered only recently how to climb out of it, and Charlie thought it was a sign to move him to a child's bed. More than most boys his age had already made the change from cot to bed, but baby was different—he would always be different.

"I'm sure he'll adjust," he said. "He likes our bed well enough."

"But that's quite different," she said, "and you know it."