The Acquisition of Memories. Chapter 5- Coming to His Senses: Hearing

*A/N: GAH! This took a lot of fiddling about to get it to flow a bit. I am still not sure it belongs at this part of the larger story. I think, at least, that the other senses will be better covered later into their London evening adventure. More plot movers are in order for next chapter I think - need to get this train moving a bit faster!

Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from them- JF's work just makes me imagine different stuff sometimes.

CECECECECE

No time to dally, the day speaks to Charles. Memories and moments are fickle beasts, Charles Carson, and right now we demand your strict attendance…

…"Och, get away with yee" Elsie chuckled, throwing him back one of his more memorable lines from a time when they started really noticing each other a little differently and tried to garner smiles from the other whenever daily moments and some gentle ribbing would allow...

CECECECECE

Charles flicks his eyes to Elsie's mouth, and in the click of the wheels, in the breath of the moment, he wonders at this new development with her brogue, which is normally more clipped and refined for the purposes of work at the Abbey. Her lilting, skipping tones seemed to have always been with him, beating out a weird tattoo in his heart that allows him to feel some sense of harmony with a world that he frequently finds frightening as it changes so rapidly around him. Still, he loves to hear her when it thickens. It warms him even as it speaks to him yet another thing unknown. Something mysterious and free.

Over the years he has become quite attuned to it- noticing when it slips into that sensuous burr that enthrals him so. Such as it does when she is particularly tired at the end of a day and they sit in quiet, shared company in his pantry with some wine, once all the house was tucked away and still for the night. Other times, she slips into the heavier Argyll accent when she has her dander well and truly up about one thing or another; generally something he has not been able to do, as it is- such as move fast enough with the changing times, or accept less than utter perfection from anyone, including himself, no matter the circumstances. The list goes on. The reasons now seem so unimportant. All of the petty things that we can and should let go of, he thinks to himself. Yet he still gets slightly stunned each time he manages to vex her in some way. Sometimes it is because he waltzes so unwittingly into her ire. But, always, it is because her accent seeps into him and sends the blood draining rapidly from just under his ears to the sides of his chest and makes his lower back tingle with latent energy.

God, how he loves to hear it when she sparks! He hears the flint strike in the click of adamant heels on slate as she throws off the reserve of quiet duty and marches into the fray. He loves those times when she strikes forth with her opinions, brooking no argument from any quarter. He has always loved how her mind works, but her thoughts truly capture him when her razor sharp and made-up mind breaks through that Downton restraint- the restraint that seems to cling to both their frames and has defined most of their lives. He loves it when that fire breaks through and expresses itself in that unique and heightened manner of hers, all lusty peaks and sweeping, rounded vowels- all heat, and surety and steely resolve. It is then that he can truly see her take flight.

It seems his soul demands Elsie Hughes in full flight- an awesome thunder. But it is actually quite a rare thing to see across their day to day routines where the shadow of her gliding calm wraps around their days and smooths all of their paths. But oh! when the boot falls and the flint strikes! She is a barely contained roar- a penny sized lightning rocket who ignites the sky and is formidable enough to engender the fear of the Gods into their below-stairs charges, should they ever be on the receiving end of her wrath! For Charles, however, it kindles something deep within him when he encounters it. It makes his chest expand with a start – like he has something growing large inside him that he had lost sight of long ago. Something that has been hidden and long denied, but he senses that it is good and big. Solid. And that it is somehow less lonely and cold with Elsie striking her steel against it. Elsie- when she takes flight.

The truth of it is, despite the solitary existence demanded by his role as a butler, he has never really wanted live a life so cold and alone behind the walls of restraint. Who does? We all want warmth, he thinks. We all want to belong. This he knows. God knows he wanted that- orphan that he is. He just didn't know how to reach out for it and hold onto it. He had been so lonely at times. So cold and alone and all that kept him going were his thoughts of Elsie and that fire he sometimes saw in her. That fire that had seemed so dangerous to him for so many years- when to get too close and break free and let that hard lump inside of him melt a little and love her, as he yearned to do, would have been to risk his only known home and hearth and make him an orphan out in the world once more- cold and alone and lost. And so he locked down all his wants and threw himself fully behind the mask of his profession. And he had assumed, for far too long, that she had done that too.

But Elsie had persisted. She had struck out against it all, against the walls, and she had broken through. She has known him all along it seems, and she has kept knocking at that solid wall of reserve surrounding him. Thank God for Elsie, he thinks, she has kept me alive, she has tended that dark lump of ancient coal inside me and made it burn, just as it was designed to- across all those long years when I didn't know how to reach for her, or for myself again. After the hurt of Alice. After that breach of trust. She has always been there. Elsie. Elsie by his side, nurturing. Steadily stoking a fire in his chest, until he could not hold all of that new heat inside himself anymore, and so it reached out for her. Stretched out for more- seeking the oxygen of her so as to burn hotter and longer and more fiercely for her. I want to give all of this to her, his mind whispers.

In truth, he feels at once helpless and in awe of her power - in awe of her fire, and yet, strangely comforted by it too- soothed and warmed. And so he listens for the thickening of the burr which leaves him with new sap steeling through his veins. Energised. If he is truly honest, he is somewhat titillated by it all. She is exciting and passionate when she is all in a rage. Her fiery and free Scottish nature appears to him clearly at these times and it lends a certain frisson to their exchanges that makes his heart skip with a strange excitement. To Charles, it is a chance to see that part of her which is also hidden deep. It is a gift and Charles revels in seeing this flame roar forth in Elsie and he finds that now he is not afraid to feel it to its fullest. Now, he gladly takes her strident pounding at the walls he erected so long ago. The loud striking on the solid forge of his heart fills up the hollow of that inside space. That place that he has harboured for all these years in his broad chest is now filled with a delightful ringing sound.

He has to admit that, at times, he has willingly walked unto that breach just to see her spirit in full flight. For he has learnt over time, after her initial spark and flare-up has subsided a little, after his own blustering growl has lost all of its air, that they can talk again and work through their little disagreements, to become aligned once more. And it is always in these times that she will shift closer to him and he will edge, bit by bit, closer to her. And then together, they seem to be able to shuffle the hard pieces of coal that had built up inside him, around his heart over all those years of liveried restraint, after Alice and all of that sad betrayal, and he feels himself kindling from Elsie's spark. Then the embers that had laid low and buried over all those lonely years fan into flickering life and the warmth inside him grow until he feels lighter and less afraid and less lonely and cold. And so then he finds himself wanting to get even closer to the lovely passionate, but ultimately safe and controlled force that is Elsie.

So, Charles realises with a start- that is what is at the heart of this comfort he feels with Elsie by his side- even when she is all fire and rage! That is the bare truth of it- he wants the warmth of her, and so he will risk the burn.

And so Charles wonders, does inciting her Scottish ire and facing it head on make him a braver man than others? Or, is he simply a silly old fool in love? Charles cannot say. No matter anyway. For, he is now exactly the man he has always wanted to be, and he is exactly where he wants to be right now- her husband and by her side from this day forward. Charles cannot help but chuckle softly and contentedly at it all. Charles- with Elsie roaring bright as firelight- always by his side.

CECECECECE

Ahh, but her accent today, Charles thinks- it is somehow different, and wholly new. That burr. The hooks of it strike and burrow deeper, but softer. He likes it- more than he can fathom, for it is like another secret part of her is revealing itself to him alone. He finds he wants to be closer to those warm tones- a new melody in a tinkling music box she had edged into his heart and mind when he was not looking- all those years ago. The music box she has wound up with that key to him that only she holds- wound up around him, surrounding him in a strange and ancient Gaelic magic drawn from her faerie blessed homeland and fed on the soft downs of Yorkshire.

And today, she winds her magic inside him again speaking with a freedom neither of them has been allowed to live until just now. This new facet to her voice speaks to him of a shared and gentle needling humour, deep kindness, faith and easy and relaxed familiarity. It speaks of her comfortableness with him. This is a sensation he will look forward to more and more, he knows it. The feelings in him spark and kindle to life again as this new aspect of the woman by his side calls out to him. And what strange ecstasy it is to know that he has the rest of his life to find more of the music of her soul and that he alone will hear it sung into his heart. Charles, old boy, what a rare privilege this is, indeed.

CECECECECE