I realize that this is obviously AU after Sunday's episode (Thank Goodness!), but I wanted to write this scene anyway. Batwings was kind enough to read it and suggested just one more chapter. We'll see if I can stick to that.
Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be.
Charles sat stiffly on the settle outside Dr. Clarkson's office. He realized after a moment that he was nervously drumming his fingers on his knee and stilled his hand by gripping his leg tightly. The reason he was here was to provide comfort and support to Elsie. He certainly didn't need to add to her distress. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, his eyes drifted down to the hands that were gripping her handbag as though it contained the Crown Jewels. Tentatively so that he didn't surprise her, he stretched out his hand to cover one of hers. Her hand released the handbag instantly, and she turned her palm up to lace her fingers through his. She gave him a sad smile and drew a ragged breath.
When the nurse opened the door and beckoned Elsie inside, he stood to follow her, but the nurse moved to stop him. He looked at Elsie in distress. Surely she didn't want to face this alone. Elsie put her hand on the nurse's arm, "I would like him with me. We should hear this news together."
Charles followed her gratefully through the door that shut heavily behind them, and they walked down the short corridor to the doctor's consulting room. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was like a death march. A tiny part of him almost wished he was back at the house waiting for the news there, but the largest part of him, made up almost entirely of his heart, knew that he needed to be here for Elsie. Supporting her was his most important duty now and, if he had his way, for the rest of his life.
When they entered the doctor's office, the nurse left them while she went to fetch Dr. Clarkson. Glancing around the room, he detached himself from the situation by analyzing it. What message did it send? What style was there? The coldly impersonal room was dominated by a large desk. There was a single chair on one side and two on the other. No doubt the doctor would sit at the desk, separated from his patients by a vast expanse of wood and papers. The two chairs facing the desk were all wrong. They should be as close as possible so that the patient's companion could offer all the support necessary. He stepped forward to adjust the chairs for just that purpose, but Elsie stopped him with a hand on his arm and a small shake of her head. She was right, of course, he had no right to rearrange the doctor's office, but he did wish to have a talk with him about the message he was sending.
Elsie sat down in one of the chairs, but he was unwilling to separate from her by sitting so far away in the other. Standing behind her, he let his hand rest on her shoulder with his forefinger stretched along her collarbone and thumb kneading the knotted muscles of her neck. She reached up as though to cover his hand with her own but let it drop back to her lap when the doctor entered. He glanced down to see that she had renewed her grip on her handbag.
Dr. Clarkson's step paused for a moment when his eyes met Charles's but to his credit, he didn't blurt out his surprise.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hughes," he said, "and Mr. Carson."
Charles impatiently offered his own greeting through clenched teeth while trying to maintain the appropriate decorum. He wished the man would just tell them whether Elsie was going to live or not. Pleasantries could be exchanged later.
Almost as though he could sense Charles's thoughts, Dr. Clarkson directed a kind smile at Elsie and said, "Mrs. Hughes, it appears that your cyst is benign."
A great weight lifted off his heart. He felt like laughing in relief but he wanted to be very sure. "Benign; that means that it's definitely not cancer?"
Dr. Clarkson's eyes flitted away just for a second, and the fist closed around Charles's heart again. He held his hand as steady as a rock, not wanting to transfer any of his concern to Elsie through his touch.
Again, the doctor looked to Elsie with a question in his eyes, and Elsie answered after clearing her throat and swallowing quickly, "Mr. Carson has every right to ask, Doctor. I've invited him here."
"The fluid which we removed showed no signs of malignancy, but…" Charles's heart seized at the pause and then the doctor continued, "I discussed your case with my colleague in London, and he recommended that we do a biopsy of the tumor to be absolutely sure of our diagnosis."
Elsie licked her lips and spoke in a harsh whisper, "Tumor. I have only felt one lump. I thought you said it was a cyst."
Charles's mind was racing over the possibility of multiple growths and what that might mean when Dr. Clarkson held up his hands to calm them both.
"I'm terribly sorry. There is only one growth. To me any abnormal growth is a tumor. It is filled with fluid and therefore is a cyst. Please forgive me. I have no wish to cause you any further worry."
Charles grimaced at the doctor but restrained himself from suggesting that the man think before he worry a lady like that again. He felt Elsie's shoulder relax under his hand and was glad. When he thought he could speak in something approaching a normal tone, he stated the facts as he understood them, "You have removed fluid from the growth on Mrs. Hughes's, um, ah, chest"; seizing on an appropriate word with relief. "That fluid shows no sign of cancer, but it does not mean with certainty that this cyst," he looked to Dr. Clarkson who approved of his choice of words with a nod, "is not cancer and thus you'd like do a biopsy."
Dr. Clarkson nodded, "That is correct, Mr. Carson. Unfortunately, no surgery is without risks."
Charles and Elsie spoke in surprised unison, "Surgery?"
Elsie glanced up at him and he clamped his mouth shut so that she could speak, "I thought you said you would need to biopsy the cyst, not surgery."
"A biopsy would involve surgery Mrs. Hughes," Dr. Clarkson spoke patiently and kindly, "We would need to remove the entire cyst. You will be asleep for the procedure. The pain would be relatively minimal. It would not be an extensive surgery."
Charles couldn't hold his next question back, "And if it were cancer?"
"If it were cancer," the doctor said, meeting his eyes steadily, "Then the surgery to treat it would be more extensive."
Elsie patted his hand on her shoulder, "We'll not borrow trouble. Let us deal with this one day at a time. First we need to decide whether to do the biopsy or not."
Charles hated that Elsie felt the need to comfort him but was confused by her indecision. "Why on earth would you not want to do the biopsy? Don't you want to be sure?"
"It would be surgery, Charles," she hissed, "and on my body."
The doctor broke in and Charles nearly wanted to leap over the desk at his intrusion, "Mrs. Hughes is right, Mr. Carson. No surgery is without risk. I would advise you, both of you, to think carefully about this and to discuss it. There's no great hurry. You can give me your decision within the next week."
Charles clenched his jaw to bite back the retort he had for the doctor and the argument he had for Elsie. He merely nodded shortly. The doctor's eyes travelled from Elsie back to him and after a pause said, "I don't have any other appointments for the day, and I need to check on one or two patients at the hospital. Feel free to remain here for a few moments to gather your thoughts before you leave. No one will disturb you."
"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson," Elsie nodded with a distracted smile, "And thank you for explaining the situation so carefully."
Charles didn't know if he would have gone quite that far in his appreciation. He thought the doctor should have been much more forceful in his recommendation of the biopsy. Giving the doctor a curt nod, he voiced his thanks as well, however.
Dr. Clarkson accepted their thanks with a slight inclination of his head and started toward the door. He paused just before reaching it and said, "Mrs. Hughes, may I add that I am glad that you have someone to share this burden. No one should have to go through something like this alone."
As soon as the door shut, Elsie twisted in her chair to look up at him, "Charles, would you please sit? I'll strain my neck looking up at you."
He sank down gratefully in the other chair but shifted it so that he could easily reach Elsie's hand, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to be near you while the doctor gave us the news."
"And I thank you for that," she said with a small nod, "You're like a great guardian angel behind me or maybe a giant mastiff."
"An angel or a dog," he stated flatly, attempting humor, "It's nice to know you have such a clear understanding of who I am."
"Charles," she said softly, holding his gaze with hers, "I have always known who you are. You are my dearest friend."
"Thank you for that," he smiled into her eyes and leaned forward to take her hand. Growing serious again, he said, "I don't understand why you don't want to be certain that this, this thing in your," he hesitated over the word and waved vaguely in her direction with his free hand, "chest is not ca…," a lump rose in his throat at the word, "that it is benign."
She looked at him squarely, "My breast, Charles. This thing, this growth, this tumor, this cyst is in my breast. Not my chest, my breast."
His cheeks tinted faintly, and he looked away, "I know where it is Elsie. I just didn't feel that it was proper to…"
He broke off when he saw that she had lifted her hands to undo her coat and her scarf. What was she doing? Then it dawned on him, and he nearly leapt from his seat. "Elsie, I hardly think that this is the proper time or place for…"
"Sit down," she commanded, and he sat as quick as a footman caught in a bit of mischief, "If you are to help me decide how to deal with this, you should know it."
When the first few buttons of her dress were undone, she took his hand and guided it to her right breast. He felt the soft skin and then the hard, unyielding lump. Outlining its edges with the tips of his fingers, he closed his eyes to memorize the size and shape so that he could judge later if it had grown or changed in any way.
She spoke in a hoarse whisper, "I don't think it's grown. I check it every night before I go to sleep, if I go to sleep."
He opened his eyes to look at her. No wonder she looked tired. He made a mental note to call tomorrow and ask the doctor for a sleeping draught.
He leaned forward to let his forehead rest against hers. "You must let me take some of the worry for you. I'll check it if you like."
She snorted, "That's a likely line! You must think me a silly kitchen maid if you think I'll fall for that old trick."
"It was worth a try," he teased and laughed with her. After a moment, he realized that he was still cupping her breast, and his body responded. Pulling his hand away abruptly, he leaned back and turned away from her, creating as much space as possible between them.
He closed his eyes and tried cataloguing the wine cellar in his mind to force his problem to go away. When he could allow his mind to drift to Elsie again, he could hear a hitch in her breathing, "Elsie?"
"I'm sorry to disgust you," she said, "I'll understand if you want to return to just being colleagues and nothing more."
"What?" he swung back to face her, "Why would I want that?"
"I understand, Charles," she said, mouth set in a grim line as she tied her scarf, "If I have this surgery, I'll never be a whole woman again. No man would want someone who wasn't whole."
"Don't be silly!" he exclaimed, and then moderated his tones, "Elsie, the reason I turned away is that I couldn't help but respond to touching you. Now is not the time or place for such a response. I'm embarrassed that I have so little control over my body."
She looked at him in obvious relief and then her eyes darted down to his lap. He was gratified to see her cheeks tinting faintly as she came to understand what he had meant.
"I see," she whispered, "Thank you for telling me."
He brushed the back of his knuckles down her cheek, "I will never find you unattractive." Leaning forward, he caught her lips with his and tried to communicate his feelings to her through their touch. She responded by leaning toward him, and he shifted forward in his chair so that he could pull her closer.
After the briefest of embraces, she pulled away and said, "We really should leave. If you have no self-control, I suppose I must take responsibility. This isn't the place for this."
When he looked at her in disappointment, she said, "I only want to find a proper place. My parlor would do nicely."
Rising to his feet quickly, he pushed his chair back into place and held his hand out to help her rise, "If we take the shortcut, we can be there in ten minutes."
She laughed but took his hand, and they walked determinedly out of the doctor's office.
Reviews are welcome as always.