In Response to Guest Reviewers: To the guest who references the elaborate dance that Charles and Elsie are performing, that's a hilarious metaphor for it (I can't stop cracking up and totally agree). As much as I want to properly respond... I think I'll let today's update speak on my behalf.

To the guest who made the BRILLIANT argument about "Mrs. Hughes" versus "Mrs. Carson," I am in awe of that perspective! I think that is a wonderful twist on that whole scenario, and have been gaping for the last minute or so. In short, I tip my hat to you! (Also, ahhh, I am so touched that you love my stories. Seriously. Thank you.)

Author's Note: What, did you think it was over?

Before anything else, I should mention that things in my life got flipped upside down in the last few weeks. Consequently, although I do have ideas for this and future stories, I will have to take a lot more time in between updates.

In any case, I hope you enjoy today's update!

Warning: The logic of a child may not always make sense.

Also, I do NOT blame anyone in this situation. Any of the characters declaring themselves to be silly, foolish, stupid, etc. is ONLY a representation of their thoughts and NOT a declaration of my personal opinion.

Of all things to be woken up by, Elsie Hughes hadn't anticipated a squeak.

She stirred, shifting through a very familiar warmth only to brush up against a cushion? Her bed didn't have any cushions? And this didn't feel like her blanket so much as––"Mum? Dad?"

It was Allison who had squeaked.

Allison, who was standing in her school uniform, eyes wider than saucers.

Elsie blinked.

Charles murmured something, still mostly asleep.

Allison let out another squeak

Oh, dear.

The mother was relieved to discover, after a discreet check, that they had only wound up spending the night on the sofa. It wasn't as though they had taken leave of all their senses… or their clothes.

And then Allison was squeaking again, bolting off to her room with absolutely no explanation. That was when Elsie's brain finally caught up and registered what her daughter had said.

Allison had not said Mr. Carson. She'd called Charles Dad.

Well, now.

This was going to make for an atmosphere.

Elsie rose to her feet, trying to wake Charles. But he was oblivious to the world, and she could hear Allison's tears all the way from here. There was no decision to make: he would have insisted she go after their little girl and learn all the facts she could.

Elsie approached the closed door, lifting a hand to gently knock, "Allison, may I come in?"

There was a sniffle and silence.

The mother waited with bated breath, glancing back at the sofa. Charles was beginning to wake up, staring at her inquisitively. She gave a haphazard sort of shrug, unsure as to how to explain the circumstances. "Allison?"

"You may come in, mother," It was a bit formal and stiff for her taste, but she didn't blame the bairn. Rather, Elsie let out a silent breath, relieved to be allowed in. Whatever her little girl worried about, at least they now had a chance to fix it.

No sooner had she opened the door did Allison whimper, "I'm so sorry,"

"Whatever for?" She thought if anyone ought to apologise, it really ought to be her. This whole mess was down to her, wasn't it? But Allison was shaking her head, biting down on her lip. She was sat on the bed, her back ramrod straight, her hands curled with grief and twitching on her knees.

"Allison?" Elsie joined her on the bed, resting an arm on her bairn's shoulder. This wasn't the confident daughter who was as spirited as she was ethical. What was going on? "There's no need to apologise."

"But you see," the girl mumbled, closing her eyes and shying away. "There is."

Elsie fell silent, unsure of what to do. She thought Allison had taken a shine to maths. She even thought it was time to sit down and have a proper talk with their daughter.

Too late was she realising that perhaps they should have had a talk much sooner.

"May I ask," Charles was in the doorway, his tone gentle and sympathetic without being patronising. Elsie almost gave a start, not having expected him to be here quite so soon.

But are you really surprised?

Well now, that answer was finally as clear as day. She was less and less surprised by him by the day. Charles continued, unaware of Elsie's thoughts as he repeated himself, "May I ask why you say that, Allison?"

"Mr. Carson," Allison exclaimed, having forgotten all about him. She then ducked her head, going back to closing her eyes. "I'm afraid I've ruined everything."

The girl took in a breath, reminded of these last few weeks. She'd been so eager to finally reunite her family, the way she thought they should be. She had a plan she was going to stick to, no matter the cost.

And then yesterday happened with the hospital. And yesterday was entirely her fault. She said as such, her eyes closed as she awaited the appropriate punishment.

"Oh, I doubt that's true." Her mother's voice brought the girl out of her pain.

Allison dipped her chin, commenting in a polite yet firm tone: "But you don't know the facts,"

"Then will you tell us?"

She didn't want to. But if her standards were to be maintained, she simply must.

Little Allison took a quiet breath, desperate to push away her discomfort. But she did think this to be proper. "I know you know who Da––who Mr. Carson is. But I also know that you didn't think I knew. And,"

It was so much easier to bite down on her misery. But she didn't want to be seen as silly and so Allison went straight for the facts. Or, rather, she tried to go straight for the facts: "And, you see, saying nothing was fine, at first. I'd only just gotten him back, I really didn't want to push my luck."

She took another breath, the weight of this confession pressing down on her as her hands twitched away, "But then I realized that by saying nothing, I was lying. And as you both know, lying is abhorrent and highly unethical,"

Allison paused, tears threatening to return. Facts, she reminded herself. Stick to the facts. "And so, because I didn't tell you after I realised that, I'm still a liar. So, of course, you got hurt yesterday and had to go to hospital,"

"Allison, dear,"

She shook her head, "And it's all because I couldn't not be a liar. So, I stayed up all night thinking of how I could fix it. Obviously, my original plan wouldn't work. But how was I going to tell you I know everything? And if I didn't tell you the truth, how could I stop you from going back to hospital?"

Allison took another breath, staring at the ground and cringing as she recalled the last ten minutes, "And then I had to mess it up yet again,"

"Allison,"

She was oblivious to her mother, berating herself, "I couldn't stick to any of my plans, and that has had to have made everything even worse––"

"Allison!"

She looked up, once again expecting a fully deserved reprimand, "Mother?"

"Allis––Allie," The girl froze.

Her mother continued, "I know you know. I've known for quite some time,"

"What?" She gaped, her eyes widening to an impossible degree.

Elsie nodded, "And I can certainly say that was not the reason I was in hospital."

"It wasn't?"

"No, it wasn't," Elsie shared a look with Charles. He remained in the doorway, looking ready to do anything and everything that was asked of him.

Her heart warmed at the thought, another bit of her old confidence returning. Perhaps the Crawleys would always have his loyalty for work. That didn't mean they couldn't be a family.

She mentally swatted her reverie away, concentrating, "I think it's time we had a little talk, the three of us."

"I quite agree," Charles intoned, pleased to hear it. He looked at his little girl, a March memory coming to mind. Where he had spotted them together in Stanley Gardens. "I don't know about you, but I could go for some cocoa,"

Allison's gaze lifted once more, her eyes filled with incredulity as her head tilted, "You like cocoa?"

He beamed, "How can you have true standards without it?"

Well, there was nothing else for it. What with the shock and the confessions and now the chance for cocoa, tears had to come spilling out.

Needless to say, this was a conversation that was well overdue.

_._

They had been able to coax Allison out of her room and into the kitchen. Elsie insisted on calling the school and her work so as to let everyone know that there was a family emergency and no one should be expected today.

Once that was seen to, "Now then,"

Allison peered up from the kitchen table, but said nothing. Elsie carried on, "If I'm not mistaken, I'll need twenty marshmallows and the cinnamon,"

"Twenty marshmallows? Cinnamon?" Allison queried, her eyebrows furrowing. Considering her father was doing much the same, it really was quite a feat that Elsie managed a straight face.

"You see," the mother explained as she puttered about the kitchen. "If I'm remembering it right, you both have a preference for ten marshmallows and a dash of cinnamon. Unless, of course, I'm wrong?"

Father and daughter shared a double-take. But Allison felt guilty. Her mother may have insisted she was not to blame for the trip to hospital, but Allison should have spoken up about everything much sooner. Did a coward like her really deserve cocoa? "Actually, I don't need cocoa."

"Really, now?" Elsie asked. The girl nodded. "My, my. How else are we going to tell you what really happened?"

"What?"

Elsie looked at Charles, suddenly more than a little nervous. It was time to have a conversation that accurately described the phrase entirely honest. But where would they go from here?

He gave her an encouraging look, ready to follow her wherever she wanted to take them. Truth be told, that steadied her. These last few weeks had felt too good to be true. Perhaps that was why she'd withheld from doing this much sooner.

"Well," Elsie started again. Cocoa was minutes away, and busying herself with fetching the mugs kept her calm. "We've a bit of a story ahead of us. And I don't know about you, but I really do think cocoa is well-deserved."

Allison puzzled over this statement, playing with a napkin underneath the table. It sounded like her mother wanted to share a lot. But if they were really going to talk about everything, it really did need to be proper.

"Right. I will agree to cocoa, but only if I can be excused from the table," Allison avoided her mother's curious stare, mumbling, "I'll only be a minute, I just need to get something first,"

"All right. But you'll have to be quick if you don't want your cocoa to go cold."

Elsie watched Allison scurry off, wondering what the girl wanted to grab. She shared another look with Charles. This time, it was he who spoke up: "Is there anything you don't wish to share today?"

He asked this only once their barn was out of the room, the daf––the kind man.

"No," Elsie knew she had to set aside her personal concerns, certainly if they were going to manage this as a family. "No, I intend to answer any and all questions she has."

Mind, a dark part of her started up. This may wind up ruining everything…

Elsie nearly rolled her eyes at the thought, doing her best to ignore that panic. But it was no matter: Allison was back. And it looked like she was holding something behind her back. An old stuffed toy, perhaps?

It was nothing of the sort: "Where on earth did you find that?"

"Erm," Allison flinched, "It was an accident?"

Elsie nearly smiled, nearly amused in spite of everything. She let the cocoa sit, turning back to her audience, "It's not a bad thing, Allie," she kept her gaze fixed on the photograph, having forgotten all about that night. "I was simply taken aback. May I?"

The girl handed off the photograph, as pale as a sheet.

Elsie made sure her hands were dry and clean before grasping the image, needing a moment. This had been only days after he'd proposed to her. After several years of taking their time, they'd finally reached the next step. She had begun to doubt they were ever going to get there, but they'd managed in the end.

Weeks later, his loyalty to the Crawleys would start to truly be tested. And then things would properly begin to spiral. That photograph was quite possibly the last one of them where they were happy.

To see proof of such a thing after so many years… well, it certainly had an impact.

"May I ask," Allison quietly began, startling Elsie. The mother'd forgotten anyone else was in the room. "How did that turn into… this?"

It was the kind of audacious question Allison might've put forth years ago. But the girl tended to repress that part of her personality these days, sticking to her manners and morals more than anything else.

Elsie didn't realise how much she'd missed Allie's full personality.

"You see," All right. Elsie would answer this, and then she would tie everything back to yesterday. Hopefully, their girl would understand there was no reason to hold onto guilt. "I'm afraid I'm the one to blame for that. I doubted what was in front of me and," her words stumbled into silence. She closed her eyes, absolutely frustrated with herself.

"I beg to differ," Charles interjected, sitting up. Elsie shook her head, handing back the photograph and carrying on with fetching the cocoa, "You weren't there, Charles,"

"Then will you tell me what happened?"

She inwardly sighed. Weren't they just asking Allison that a moment ago? Still, she had made a promise. And more than that, she wanted to keep her promise.

She poured the cocoa, delicately placing ten marshmallows in two of the mugs before adding a dash of cinnamon to all three. Delivering each mug with a small smile, the mother joined her companions at the table, "I can only suppose––well, that is to say,"

She nearly rolled her eyes at herself, deciding on a simple, "Why not?"

Elsie took a breath, thinking the matter through. To paraphrase or sum up the incident in question would only lead to the pair thinking she was hiding something. The only way to fully convince them of her honesty was to share the details, as is.

She really would have preferred to wait for Allison to be older. But their girl had proven to be excessively mature. And if this helped to alleviate misplaced guilt, all the better.

"Mum? What's he talking about?"

Elsie took her spot at the table, gripping her mug and staring into the cocoa, "It's just a silly moment that should have been dealt with a long time ago." All of which was absolutely foolish, now that she thought about it. How could she have been so stupid as to take that heartless man at his word? Why didn't she fight one last time?

But once again, it was no matter. Elsie cleared her throat, well aware of her stupidity. Now it was simply a matter of sharing the tale….

Friday, the 11th of November, 2005

She had arrived with enough time to spare. But he hadn't shown. And with every look at the clock, tiredness and stupid tears threatened to return.

Today was the day he was going to tell her about his decision. Would he be out of the country for the next six months or would he finally take a step back from this draining job?

She hadn't been able to make a guess, not with his cryptic nature of late.

But as she stood in the lobby of Crawley Industries, she suspected she had her answer. Still, she might as well hear it from him. That is, if he ever showed up. She didn't think he was intentionally avoiding her, but given the circumstances perhaps she was wrong about the entire affair.

Footsteps approached her, but they weren't the ones she craved. "Miss Hughes,"

"Milord." Patrick Crawley, unlike his son, was someone who insisted everyone obeyed the rules that came with his title, regardless of the circumstances. And, no, the fact that they lived in the 21st century would not deter the man from sticking to this ritual.

He continued to speak, apathetic to her existence, "Am I to take it that he's told you then?"

"That all depends on what 'it' is."

He didn't spare her a sympathetic nod, not bothering to feign his condolences, "Of course, you must understand the decision. His career does take precedence above all else. I'm sure you've known that for years."

Oh. So, Charles really was going. The only surprise was that he wasn't there to tell her in person. But the more Elsie thought about it, the more she concluded this was his way of trying to spare her feelings. Avoidance was something they both excelled at, when given the proper motivation.

Mind, her fiancé could have told her instead of hiding the facts away for the last few weeks. That would have been far kinder in her opinion.

"How ever will you manage to plan that wedding?" Crawley started to speak, but paused. He acted as though something else occurred to him. "Then again, given his confession,"

"His 'confession?'"

Perhaps, someone else would have phrased this more delicately. "He knew that the trip would prove to be yet another delay for your wedding. He even wondered if it might be best to simply––"

Of course. Why was she surprised? The implications should have been obvious, given how much her fiancé had been avoiding her these days. Not to mention, she'd never been able to get a straight answer about anything these days. She had been foolish to conclude anything else.

Crawley paused yet again, waiting for her to fill in the blanks. Dutifully, Elsie supplied the appropriate phrase, "'Call it off?'"

"Indeed."

Well then. Didn't that make things easy?

"I see." She murmured. She really had pushed far too much, hadn't she? There could be no doubt about it, certainly if Charles confessed this to Patrick Crawley of all people.

The man in question finally nodded. A singular and curt one, of course. "It's a sad business. But a necessary one, I'm afraid."

Elsie hummed some sort of an answer, too weary to bother fighting. She felt a tightening in her chest, pain creeping in along her back. This was the first hint of the flare-ups that would accompany her for years to come. But she was too exhausted to notice. "Well, if that's what he really wants, I can be gone by the end of today."

"Quite right." The man coolly agreed, signalling for a security guard to escort her out. She didn't bother to question the special treatment. She didn't think to look behind her as the elevator dinged, her fiancé only a stone's throw away. She didn't observe how Patrick Crawley neatly distracted Charles from ever catching sight of her.

All Elsie Hughes wondered was how quickly she could box this life up and escape to Lytham St Annes. She felt too much grief and disappointment to think of anything else.

Present Day

In spite of her nerves, Elsie felt surprisingly calm. She'd expected pain to come coursing through, as it loved to do in moments such as these.

But there was nothing to be had, nothing more than a sense of silence.

She gazed at her mug, studying the cocoa for what had to be the thousandth time. Doubt was creeping back in. In the past, she'd felt shame over walking away without question. To know that she'd been right––if she'd only stayed but for one more minute, life would be very different––stung.

And now she couldn't pretend otherwise. Now everyone knew the entire truth.

Well, at least now if they insist on blaming someone, they know who.

If nothing else, perhaps this matter could be over and done with once and for all. No more Charles dismissing his own pain or Allison thinking her mother had done everything right. She hadn't, and she was now prepared to admit as such.

"Did he really say that?" It was Allison and not Charles who spoke. Elsie could hear the fire in her daughter's tone, steeling herself for the necessary reprimand.

The mother nodded, distracted by the memory and her grief. "He did. And I didn't think––"

"You didn't think to question the word of a liar and manipulator," Charles interjected, wholly displeased. Elsie was jolted into shock, her eyes leaving behind her mug in favour of looking around at reality.

She didn't think Charles would be entirely forgiving toward his employer, but she hadn't expected that sort of tone. Still, astonishing as it was, she couldn't allow it to continue: "He may have manipulated the circumstances, but he never once lied. He was careful enough not to do that."

"But he did, Mum." Allison shook her head, her tentative air all but gone. Her eyes sparkled with irritation yet it didn't look to be directed at either parent. "Liars––bullies––they don't play by the rules. They have no standards whatsoever."

"She's right, Elsie."

Elsie leaned back in her chair, almost amused in spite of the circumstances. She would hardly call herself a liar or a bully, and yet she frequently played with words. How to say things in a proper fashion, how to speak without revealing someone else's secret, so on and so forth.

What was the difference between that and what Crawley had done? Were they really all that different?

She could already hear their arguments. Mum, that's not at all what he did to us. Elsie, if you dare to compare yourself to that man…. She nearly shook her head at her thoughts. She'd had twelve years to quietly blame herself for everything; that was a habit that was going to be hard to break.

For them, she was willing to try.

"I won't bother to ask if either of you intend on changing your minds," Elsie inwardly chuckled, finally giving into shaking her head before asking, "All I want to know is what we should do next,"

She fixed her gaze on her daughter, willing that anger away as she asked, "Perhaps we ought to take in some more cocoa?" Allison did not need to spend her life cursing the name of Crawley. The sooner they dispelled her upset, the better it would be.

But her daughter countered cocoa at once: "Perhaps I ought to go down to Crawley Industries and––"

"Allison!" Elsie looked upwards, "There's no need for that," and, entirely intent on taking care of this atmosphere, the mother quipped without a second thought: "Not when your father works for the man."

"Not for long," said father muttered, scowling.

Allison gave an approving nod. As for Elsie, she was blinking away her disbelief. In the back of her mind, she'd wished for such a response. But much like before, she was thoroughly uninterested in any sort of ultimatum. To hear his confidence now… it nearly distracted her.

It did distract her, truth be told.

It made her feel lighter in a way she couldn't describe.

Naturally, it couldn't last. A knock at the door was interrupting them: "Is everything all right?" It was Alice. "Only, I noticed it's getting a bit late if you're to make it to school and work."

Elsie closed her eyes, touched by her neighbour's consideration and mildly frustrated with the interruption. But Alice meant well, there could be no denying that.

"Everything's all right," Charles reassured, prompting Elsie to close her eyes and bite her lip. Alice did not know that he had spent the night here. That realisation was going to cause some sort of awkwardness, that was for sure.

The mother cleared her throat, deciding to get the matter over with. The sooner she reassured her neighbour, the sooner they could get back to the subject at hand. "Yes, he's quite right. But we do appreciate your concern, all the same."

"Right then," Thankfully, Alice's steps could be heard as the woman descended back to her flat. The trio looked at one another in the silence, suddenly uncertain of themselves.

Right, Elsie thought to herself. Where do we go from here?

"Allison," Charles was taking charge of this one, "You said that you found that photograph by accident. Is there anything you came across by accident?"

Their daughter shook her hand, her spark fading in favour of embarrassment, "No, Mr. Ca––"

"It's all right," whether Charles was referring to her answer or her struggle with his name, it was anyone's guess. "I was only curious. And I might add that you may call me whatever you wish."

Allison nodded, blushing.

"Well now," Elsie chimed in, "If you weren't able to find anything, that only means I did a good job of putting it all away."

"You mean, you didn't just bin it?"

Elsie snorted at her daughter's question, wondering if Charlie Grigg was more of an influence than she anticipated. "It was suggested to me, of course. But I never could bring myself to," she inwardly scoffed at her actions, but decided to let her personal frustration go. "I can only suppose you'd like to see it?"

This time, when Allison mustered out a squeak, it was far more reassuring.

Author's Note: I always wanted to try out a slow-burn kind of story, but, Jiminy Christmas, it is hard to do that with angst!

In any case, I should let you know: this is the part in the story where I've only crafted possible chapters and not an official road map. All roads lead to Chelsie fluff, of course, but how should we go about getting there?

In my mind, I see a few options: Charles confronting Crawley; the trio becoming a proper family; silly Chelsie shenanigans involving physiotherapy (which, for reference, is UK equivalent of physical therapy); so on and so forth.

But since this is probably going to be my last piece for a little while, what would you like to see?