In Response to Guest Reviewers: To the guest who spoke of foundations and life lessons, you can absolutely say that again! And the best part is that this time, the entire family can safely say they've never been so sure of anything.

Author's Note: Goodness gracious, I've missed this. Seriously. I know I haven't posted as frequently with this one, but it has been on my mind (and kept me sane) quite often throughout these last few weeks.

Now, before we can dive into proper shenanigans and the likes, we do need to wrap up one last thing…

Heads Up: there is a three-second hint of why Patrick Crawley intervened. Nevertheless, this hint does NOT excuse his actions. It simply offers elaboration.

Enjoy!

Of all things to be woken up by, Charlie Grigg did not expect it to be this.

"His car's still outside," The door to his bedroom was cracked open, something Grigg never wanted this early in the day. Unfortunately for him, his flatmate and best friend didn't care what he wanted. Instead, "Charlie, his car's still outside!"

Charlie Grigg grumbled something incoherent as he tossed about in bed, desperate to bury his head in the pillows. The sun wasn't even up yet––or maybe those were his black-out curtains. Either way, what was Alice supposed to be up at this hour?

But Charlie knew she wouldn't pipe down until she told him every single detail. And so, "Whose car's still out front?"

"Charles Carson, of course! Who else?" And who was this Charles Carson supposed to be? He didn't know any Charles Carson. Was Alice trying to insinuate something? Next she'd be calling him Charles Blake or––oh. That Charles Carson.

"What do you mean his car's out front?" After two nights? Wouldn't chivalry or whatever nonsense Carson adhered to dictate he take his leave?

Alice chose to answer not with words. Rather, she yanked his black-out curtains back and let the sun sear his eyes. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Being known as a bit of a drama queen meant that Charlie Grigg ought to have hissed and dove back under the covers. But considering this was the most interesting thing to happen around here in years, well, he did need to confirm the facts.

As it turned out, his flatmate was quite correct: the automobile of one Charles Carson remained parked in the exact same spot it'd been parked in on Monday night.

Now, Monday was the hospital fiasco. Monday, Grigg could excuse. But spending the night on Tuesday? In a household that adored standards and God only knows what else?

"Of course," Charlie mused to himself, "That's not the real question."

"Oh, really?" Alice wrangled the curtains into letting in light, jabbing a hand in the direction of the parked car. "That right there is not the 'real question?'"

He hummed, cracking a yawn just to drive his best mate up a wall. She'd obviously been up for a while, she could wait a few more minutes.

"Are you going to be so kind as to tell me what the 'real question' is?" Charlie almost gave into another yawn, this one brought on by a real weariness in his bones. Fun as this all was, it felt like it had taken months to get to this point. Frankly, he was surprised those two remained so dignified and repressed––"Charles Grigg, if you're going to insist on being daft,"

"The real question is," he batted his reverie away with a smirk, pretending to have been stringing the suspense out. "Where is he?"

"Where's who?"

But Charlie felt another yawn come on. Contrary to what people believed, working ten hours in a museum was not a walk in the park. Which was why he was content to reclaim his curtains from his flatmate, put them to rights, nudge Alice toward the door, and let her figure it out for herself…

_._

Charles Carson was quite surprised to be woken up by a rather loud exclamation. This exclamation was not vulgar in the least––it was more of an aha moment than a curse. But it tilted the man back toward consciousness, where he awoke to a very warm blanket.

No, that wasn't quite right.

There was a blanket here, yes.

But that wasn't where the warmth was coming from.

Brown eyes cracked open, taking in the wisps he could catch of the dawn. The living area window kept the sun at bay––living area window? His flat had been a studio for the last decade or so. Surely it wouldn't have materialised into a proper home overnight?

And then Charles saw a telly, an object he didn't own.

And then he remembered.

The family took a fair amount of time beating about the bush. But they did tackle the world Elsie had boxed up all those years ago. The photographs, the silly notes they'd left for one another, the trinkets that'd once been tucked away in binders and briefcases… so many forgotten treasures.

He nearly cried. Allison did.

That was when it was decided to step away from the past and reassure their darling little girl that this was in no way her fault. Both parents repeatedly took the blame while insisting the other had done nothing wrong. In the end, the family decided that a drive out of Blackpool and away from anything familiar was probably for the best.

Which was how they wound up touring some quaint town Charles could barely remember the name of––an anomaly, to be sure. Truth be told, the only thing his memory clung to were the moments yesterday where his daughter sniffled out more confessions, more fears that had built over time.

By the end of it, it was decided that another movie night was in order. But before they could do that, some sort of treat had to be in order. Of course, fond as they all were of hot chocolate, the family did crave a different treat.

Which was how they wound up sharing an apple crumble in a random pub in the middle of the afternoon. Another anomaly, to be quite sure. One that led to another drive, another chat or two, and then finally another movie night.

But he didn't remember turning the telly off?

And where had this blanket come from?

Charles barely moved as he inspected the scene, mentally going over yesterday. The three of them had wound up on the sofa, obviously. Allison had changed out of her school uniform, but never got into pyjamas.

Speaking of Allison, it was she who currently clutched at the remote. Well, clutched wasn't really the right word. It hung loosely in her hands, threatening to plummet into the soft dark green blanket spread across the sofa. A blanket that, if he had to guess, looked like their girl had personally retrieved.

So, their daughter had gone so far as to keep them warm and turn off the telly.

But she had not made a single move to wake them.

Charles was amused, he wouldn't deny it. He was amused and touched and bursting with delight to know that he had yet another delightful plotter in his life.

And speaking of plotters, his eyes tore themselves away from his daughter as he took sight of the woman he still hoped to one day call his wife.

Elsie had been as exhausted as the rest of them, though she took care not to show it. Yet she had fallen asleep before all of them––he remembered that now. Yes. That was what happened.

They had been watching something inane when he felt a change of weight on his left. A glance at Allison confirmed that she was wide awake. No, it had been Elsie who had begun to slump against them. The mother had mumbled something about going to bed at a reasonable hour and had been tired enough to heed her own advice.

When father and daughter realised that, the pair had made a silent agreement to stay put. No point in waking her up, after all. She was terribly exhausted, that much was clear. If they woke her up, she wouldn't get the rest she so desperately needed.

Just a few more minutes, Charles remembered promising himself. It'll be back to normal tomorrow. Just a few more minutes tonight.

A few more minutes later and he'd been sound asleep.

Charles looked at Elsie again, a mite concerned. First to fall asleep and showing no signs of waking up anytime soon? That, much like everything else of late, was an anomaly. She'd always been an early riser who stayed up as late as need-be. Just how worn out was she?

Creaks from downstairs had him setting aside his concern. Thinking back, he did have to wonder what that exclamation was about––the one from a few minutes ago. It sounded like it had come from Alice's flat. But was it innocuous or was there something he should pay more attention to?

The man paused, determined to ascertain if there was a need for concern. The only things to be heard were dainty snores and steady breaths. The so-called culprits were within arm's reach, quite literally in both cases.

A glance at the clock told him they had some time before life had to resume. Of course, his body did ache a little from spending two nights in a row like this. And he could only imagine what Elsie would be feeling.

Right. They would have to make sure she took good care of herself and actually listened to the doctor. She couldn't dodge her neurologist appointment. Furthermore, she was not getting out of physiotherapy.

Thankfully, with Allison around, there was a better chance of success. Even when he couldn't be around to see to things, their girl would be there. And since Elsie would never dare to let Allison take care of her, that solved the problem for when he had to leave.

Charles grimaced. Leaving. That was something he never wanted to do. He would happily sublet his Manchester flat––he would do that and more at the drop of a hat.

The hour-hand of the nearest clock drifted closer to six o'clock. He would have to get going if he was going to make the drive from Blackpool to Manchester. He was probably going to be late as is, of course…

You could just never go back. Ever.

Given the grief he'd experienced, that felt absolutely justified, if only mildly childish. But he knew Elsie wouldn't approve. Besides, he couldn't deny it: in spite of the pain that came with these conversations of late, there was a curiosity.

Just why did such a horrible thing happen? And over a business trip to Russia? Not that the trip had inspired Crawley to act. Truth be told, it was supposed to be another simple trip; albeit, a bit longer than normal.

All right, a lot longer than normal.

But other than that, there was no discernible reason why.

Then again, did it matter why? His boss had lied and manipulated the situation. Wasn't that enough to warrant leaving? Their engagement may have been falling to pieces, but Patrick Crawley had a significant hand in the matter.

Shouldn't the matter be over and done with?

As it happened, he could already hear her arguments. They were unfortunately logical. You ought to make sure you know this is what you really want to do. Do you not suppose you'll come to regret any decision you make in this moment?

Thankfully, he no longer had to convince her of his sincerity toward their relationship; she knew of his conviction there. No, it was his employment she now chose to fret about.

Charles felt pressed to look out into the world again, to make sure this was real. The most important facts had been brought to light at last. Elsie was by his side, their daughter curled up in between them. This was not a little dream or flight of fancy. This was reality.

He clung to the image before him, recognising that Crawley didn't matter. He would have to make a decision at some point. But enjoying this took precedence.

Briefly, he contemplated the repercussions for calling the rest of the week off. Family emergency, he envisioned using as his excuse. Family emergency brought on by this wretched company, no less.

But it wasn't the company that had ruined things. It was simply the current CEO.

Allison shifted in her sleep, prompting the father to ease off his upset. Giving more time and pain to Patrick Crawley was not something he was interested in. Not when he could spend time basking in the important matters of life. Namely, this.

_._

Elsie Hughes was surprised when she woke up to only a little back pain. There was a crick in her neck and she felt stiffer than she had in months. But given the circumstances––two nights spent sat on the sofa––she was genuinely surprised by the lack of pain.

And then she was catching sight of a very familiar pair of brown eyes.

Naturally, she forgot all about pain.

He squeezed her hand, beaming with such joy it took her breath away. Obviously, he was unaware that this gesture tested her; that when he looked at her like that, she wanted to kiss the man and toss all principles aside. Call off work for the second day in a row, let him quit, and quite possibly send Allison downstairs so they could have a proper discussion about their future…

This discussion, of course, would feature no words. And would last for as long as it needed.

Fortunately, she didn't lose her wits, not at this time. Not with their bairn sandwiched ever-so-neatly between them.

And then something was clattering in the flat downstairs. And somehow, for no real reason at all, Elsie knew this was Alice's way of making sure they all got to school and work on time. Which was probably a wiser tactic than coming upstairs like she had yesterday morning.

"My, my," she murmured, pleased that those words had been enough to coax Allison into stirring. "As nice as it would be to call another day off, I doubt any of us can afford it."

"I'm not sure," he confessed, garnering a huff from her for such cheek. "Do you not suppose we ought to call the entire week off?"

Elsie arched an eyebrow, but there was no frustration. For once, nothing in her wanted to argue with him, not when it came to that.

Granted, if life was going to change––and it certainly was bound to, given everything––they would need all the income they could get. And that was the only reason she was resolved to say the silliest of things: "Charles Carson, if you promise not to take any more days off, I will go to all of my physiotherapy sessions."

"Done." He gave her no chance to back out, not that she minded. "I'll simply hand in my notice."

"Charles!" He wanted to prove how cheeky he could be, did he? Well, she would show him cheek! "I take it you've considered the consequences of living here unemployed? I doubt you'd find it pleasant, not if you're unable to sublet your flat."

With those words, several things became clear:

Allison gasped, revealing that she'd been wide awake for more than a few minutes; Charles sputtered, revealing that he hadn't expected such a reaction; and Elsie wrung her hands out to dry, biting down on her lip to keep from uttering any other foolhardy responses. Wasn't it downright silly to think that they could just prete––"Well, now that you mention it,"

Her hands stilled, her eyes fixed on the floor.

He continued, "I'm sure there's some ambitious employee at Crawley Industries who wouldn't mind taking on the Manchester office, if not the title of 'Executive Assistant.'"

Her eyes widened as she listened to her man continue to speak. Belatedly, she realised she ought to slow things down. She ought to make sure they were taking all the time they needed to do this right, just in case rushing things ruined it all again.

"I'd suggest Mr. Moseley––well, no, I actually wouldn't. Not yet, at any rate. Personally, I think it'd be rather fitting to suggest Mr. Spratt,"

Much like earlier, when he talked like that… well, it had an effect, to say the least.

"Would you really stay with us when you quit?" Allison could no longer keep quiet, chucking aside politeness in favour of getting to the truth. Elsie had half a mind to berate the girl for being presumptive––it wasn't a matter of when; rather, it was a matter of if––but Charles was already answering the question.

"Well," he pretended to think this over as though his sentiment wasn't plain, "I suppose I could be persuaded. That is," this sounded far more like a tease in the making than it did a genuine concern, "If your mother approves, of course."

And suddenly, there were two pairs of very eager brown eyes cornering her. Elsie huffed, "Of course he'd stay with us. Seeing as how we're the reason he'd be quitting, would it be fair otherwise?"

… There had been better quips to put forth, that was for sure. At the allusion to that ridiculous November day, an atmosphere unfurled. The parents eyed each other nervously, suddenly wondering what on earth they were doing. Confidence may be budding between them, but there was over a decade's worth of insecurity and doubt to contend with.

Allison gave an uncharacteristic groan, looking up at the ceiling as she quite possibly prayed for patience, "Do we have to keep doing this?"

The girl blushed, looking as though she meant to keep that thought to herself. Elsie snorted at the audacity, having missed that fiery spirit of Allie's. As for Charles, his face matched his daughter's.

"I suppose," the mother began, regaining confidence with a small smile, "We don't."

"I quite agree," the father added, hope returning to his eyes.

The pair shared another look, one that was interrupted only when their little girl let out a sigh, "Thank God that's over with."

Would wonders never cease? Elsie really ought to chide the bairn for such cheek, but her heart wasn't it. Not when it'd been stolen away. For Charles was distracting her with another look. And she was forced to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they could be over and done with doubting one another.

Allison shook her head at the pair of them, scurrying off before she got in trouble for saying something truly impertinent. The pair barely registered the actions, content to stay right where they were.

"Well now," Elsie tried to tease, "If we're not 'doing this' then what are we doing?''

Too late did she realise that was yet another poorly phrased tease. She had to be losing her touch. And when that thought led to deeply inappropriate ones, the woman fought off a blush and looked away, clearing her throat––his hand took hers in once again.

"Now that you mention it," he sounded far calmer than she felt. But perhaps that serenity was why her eyes drifted back toward his. "I did have a few ideas,"

"Oh?" Judging from the way he looked at her, not to mention the tone he took, she knew what was on his mind. Her breath caught, but not from offense. Never offense. In fact, "And I don't suppose you'd care to share those ideas?"

He did. She found herself far more receptive than she anticipated. Both confessed––without words, of course––that these ideas were far more to their liking than those doubts that continued to haunt them.

Truth be told, it was becoming all too easy to toss those doubts out. Worst still, they truly contemplated the consequences of his quitting and her being the one to take the week off. To have that proper discussion about their future, after all.

It was only when the pair heard a squeak––the second one in as many days––that they realised it was perhaps not ideal to discuss the matter just yet.

Or, rather, that it would probably be best to wait until Allison was away at school.

Author's Note: Whether they called the day off or not, I'll leave that up to you ;) :)

Moreover, I have not made up my mind as to whether or not he should try to reform Crawley Industries or if he should simply leave it behind in the dust.

On one hand, given how in S2 he talked about being unable to work for Carlisle (once the whole "Spying on Mary" bit had been discovered), it would make sense for him to step away. Nevertheless, because these are the Crawleys we're talking about... I can also see him giving them a second chance/trying to change the company by staying on.

If nothing else, we can properly start to leave the angst behind! Yes, there'll be dashes of it here and there, but we've reached a turning point in the story.

Also! Entirely off-topic, but has anyone seen the new movie? I confess that when I heard "A New Era" was in the title, I became hesitant to watch it. But if anyone has seen it and would like to share their opinion, I would be curious to hear it.

In any case, I truly hope you enjoyed that and that you have a lovely day! 'Till next time (which should hopefully be two-three weeks max, this time!)