Author's Note: If Carson gets to have his own little dream in "The One With The Cinder", I think Mrs. Hughes gets a chance to have her own equivalent! In any case, thank you to chelsietx for inspiring the continuation of this little snippet! And, for fans of "This is Our Moment": that's still going strong, I just also had to post this at the same time.

Warning: Taking some liberties with the damage a person can suffer from falling and what impact it can have on memory. This is also totally canon-divergent post-Series 1! And, heads up –– there's a load of fluff, some angst, lots of cheesiness, and a ton of indulgence because this is one of my favorite concepts. And, finally, enjoy!

_._

The Incident

Elsie Hughes had been whittling away at the details surrounding the next rotas, a tedious but necessary task, when a sharp knock sounded at her door. Distracted by the work before her, the housekeeper was oblivious to the slightly frantic manner of the knocking –– the hurried sound subtly indicating that the person announcing their presence was experiencing a bit of a crisis.

Her ignorance hadn't lasted for long.

For once that door was opened, once that ghastly pronouncement was made, there would be no going back.

"Anna?" The woman in question looked paler than a sheet, greeting the housekeeper with a wide-eyed stare. That in combination to the fact that the younger servant hadn't said a word prompted the Scot to devote her full attention to the matter at hand.

"Mrs. Hughes," The head housemaid didn't quite stutter, but she definitely looked shaken from whatever it was that had happened. Clearly, there was a crisis of some kind, that much was obvious. However, until Elsie learned otherwise there was no use in acting as though the sky had fallen–– "It's Mr. Carson."

At the sound of those three words, the housekeeper froze. Remained stuck to her seat as that phrase words tauntingly repeated itself. Couldn't do anything but detachedly stare at Anna as thousands of images, scenarios that ranged from concerning to heart-wrenching, sprang to mind. The blonde woman hadn't looked this panicked before –– an implication that Elsie Hughes did not want to think about.

But, she wouldn't get an answer by idling standing by, now would she?

"Show me." Shoving back her terrified thoughts into the furthest corners of her mind, the housekeeper imperiously rose to her feet and followed the lady's maid toward the cellar without another word.

The wonderful thing about her profession was that it had taught her how to look as though she were fully in control, even when nothing could be further from the truth. The house could be on fire and she would still maintain an exquisite amount of control because of her training, because of her dedicated habits.

None of that training mattered now.

All that mattered was ascertaining what exactly was going on.

At first, in the dim lighting afforded to them, Elsie didn't know what she was supposed to be looking for. Suppose her colleague had managed to injure himself handling his Lordship's blasted wine? Suppose he was bleeding out on the floor, all due to a tricky step? Suppose––

Elsie Hughes, that's quite enough of that! Mentally swatting away the worst case scenarios, the housekeeper silently regained her bearings as her eyes continued to adjust to the light.

Though, once her eyes adjusted, she almost wished they hadn't.

"Mr. Carson!" Racing to the bottom of the steps, the housekeeper unwillingly continued to take in the sight of the butler collapsed in an incredibly undignified heap. In this instance, dignity had little to do with the matter; she was far more focused on kneeling beside the man and confirming whether or not her dearest friend was still breathing.

Then and only then could she garner a clue as to what on earth happened.

"Mr. Carson," Elsie worriedly repeated, hands skimming over a recently frayed part of his uniform. Desperate to ascertain her friend's health, she tossed aside all the conventions that came with propriety. Instead, snaking two fingers under his collar, relief flooded the woman when she felt an existing, albeit weak, pulse. Foregoing decorum, the woman opted to instead clutch any reassurance she could by keeping her fingers right where they were.

"I think he's coming to, Mrs. Hughes," Anna whispered, understandably in shock over the matter. Luckily, her statement rang true: the butler was stirring under the housekeeper's touch. "I don't know how he came to be here, Mrs. Hughes. I only found him by accident and–– and I don't know how long he's been here."

Anna's fears sharply echoed about the cellar, reminding the two women that they were exceptionally out of their depth with this incident. Truly, it was hardly likely anyone in the house would have the capacity to properly handle this sort of thing. But, it was now a matter of reassuring the blonde servant that everything still had a chance for working out.

If only she believed that.

"It's all right, Anna." Truthfully, Elsie hardly felt like this situation was anything remotely close to "all right". Nevertheless, she didn't need the younger woman to panic any further. And Mr. Carson was indeed coming back to them. Therefore, there wasn't a need to worry themselves until they unearthed the extent of this damage. So, as long as she managed to keep herself collected until Dr. Clarkson gave his inevitable diagnosis, this could all be taken care of.

"Mr. Carson?" The youngest servant in the room quietly inquired. This only prompted a groan, the man undoubtedly unused to being caught in such a position. Yes, well, Elsie dryly thought to herself, when he comes to, I'm sure he'll declare how abhorrent the whole situation is and how he is "perfectly fine" and ought to be left well alone.

Oh, and yes: that idea of his being "perfectly fine" was one she wouldn't believe for a second. Not until Dr. Clarkson checked him over and made sure that there really was nothing to worry about. And even then she wouldn't be letting him step down this way anytime soon, not if she could help it!

"Mr. Carson?" Anna repeated herself, unintentionally speaking on behalf of both the housekeeper and herself. Little did the head housemaid know, said housekeeper was currently unable to do more than continue to keep a tight hold on a dizzyingly inconsistent pulse –– worry etching itself further and further into her grasp.

Fortunately, the butler would give a response soon.

Unfortunately, said response would hardly be reassuring.

"Who?" The low rasp, an unusual sound for the man and one she never wanted to hear again, brought Elsie's focus back to life. Once again, she found herself shoving back any dreadful thoughts, determined to keep some sort of a grip on the situation.

"'Who', Mr. Carson?" The Scot questioned, unsure of what he meant. Anna, on the other hand, was settling for another, "Mr. Carson, are you all right?"

Judging from the occasional wincing that had sprung up ever since he'd stirred back to consciousness, the man was certainly not all right. But, there looked to be no blood and she couldn't see any signs that would indicate broken bones. In fact, the only issue was that–– was that––

The only real issue was that her dearest friend was gazing up at her in a manner quite atypical for him. He was even daring to take one of her hands into his, looking quite oblivious to the pain he was experiencing, and smiling up at her as though as though they were more than colleagues.

More than friends, even.

"Elsie," The man quietly began, as though uttering her Christian name was something of a habit. Then, having realized they were in front of a subordinate, the man abashedly smiled at the inadvertent slip. Yet he didn't relinquish his hold on her hand. Instead, his grip on tightened as he murmured a sheepish, "Mrs. Carson."

Elsie? Mrs. Carson? The concept stunned her to the core, the housekeeper gaping at these terms of address. In all fifteen or so years of their knowing one another, she had nothing –– no understanding or realization –– with which to steady herself with when it came to this shocking conversation.

"Yes, Mr. Carson?" Her voice had risen a pitch or two, bewilderedly concluding this had to be some sort of dream. In a minute or two, she'd be waking up to another day as Downton's housekeeper with no cellars in sight. Surely that would be the case, what with the incredibly ludicrous happenings of the last few minutes? A butler did not faint only to reach for the hand of his respective housekeeper and refer to her as his wife.

So, what then, was going on?

Oblivious to the outside world, Elsie continued to stare at the man before her in astonishment, waiting for whatever he had to say next. What with his open smile and the tender stare he bestowed upon her, she was at a loss when it came to thinking as a whole. In all honesty the only thought coming to mind was the realization that they were in fact holding hands.

She didn't know if she would've preferred to wake up this very moment or to continue to remain by his side and–– and carry on holding his hand.

All she knew was that he was about to speak again.

Opening his mouth to finish his thought, the woman found herself leaning in a little further to catch whatever was next. Though, whether it was a stroke of luck or not, the man fainted before he could get the rest of his statement out.

Sharply breathing out, still questioning every part of the last five minutes, Elsie kept one hand on his pulse and the other in his grasp, not daring to disturb him. She quickly scanned the man to make sure he was only asleep, adrenaline continuing to swirl around her veins as her worries began to churn into some vague form of relief. As far as she could tell, he was going to be okay. Clearly, something had happened –– how else could she explain what transpired? Nevertheless, whatever had happened to her friend, he was alive and would, hopefully, recover.

But he could hardly recover if there was no doctor to help, now could he?

"Anna, please go back upstairs and see about fetching Dr. Clarkson." The servant silently nodded, rising to her feet. "And, please, make no mentioning of what Mr. Carson said."

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes." Without another word, the younger woman quickly went back up the stairs. The housekeeper belatedly found herself relieved that it was Anna who had found the butler and not someone like, say, Thomas, for instance. That would have made all of this even worse, if such a thing were possible.

As it stood, she still hadn't a clue as to what was next. Maintaining a gentle hold on the man, sensing that moving him wouldn't be a good idea until the doctor was here, she could only count down the seconds until help would arrive. That, and pray that this really was all some sort of dream.

Yes. A dream that would give way to reality soon enough. A fantasy that would reveal all was quite well with her friend. One that would prove that this foolishly daft utterance he made was only that of imagination.

After all, a dream would be infinitely preferable to whatever this was.

Or so she kept telling herself.

_._

Author's Note: You can expect 3-5 day updates with this one! As of right now, I plan on this being fairly short (5-10 chapters, total). But, if you've any requests or suggestions, I'm more than happy to see about incorporating them (I only ask that we keep it in the K-T range, if only because anything above is definitely not my forte).

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and have a lovely day!