AU now, but I am enjoying exploring what might have happened. This chapter is a bit melodramatic, but I doubt I could out do JF on that score.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I earn nothing from them and am thankful for the people who created them so that I could steal them shamelessly.

Elsie smoothed her dress down again before rising to check the temperature of the teapot under the cozy one more time. She shifted the biscuits on the plate and changed their arrangement slightly, deciding that it was more pleasing to alternate the chocolate and the light rather than having all of the same kind together. Then she hesitated again, perhaps she should have the tray on the side table and not on the table beside the settee. He might want to talk, or something else. She would prefer a little of the something else. She'd had enough talking to do her for months.

Closing her eyes, she clenched her hands together. This nervousness was silly. He had come to her sitting room hundreds of times. There was nothing to be jittery about. She was more skittish than a new scullery maid. With an inward grimace, she thought it might have something to do with her drawing his hand to her breast. What on earth had she been thinking? At the time, she'd been annoyed at how pointedly everyone, especially Charles, avoided calling this thing what it was; a lump in her breast. The thought of the reaction that he'd had to her and that she'd had to him made more than just her cheeks heat. She reminded herself, however, that he had reacted to her first. Calmer now, she moved the tray to the side table only to jump slightly at the sharp double rap on her door before it eased open, and he peeked around the edge. Turning, she sighed deeply before giving him a hesitant smile.

"The family has gone to bed," he announced as he entered and shut the door behind him.

She nodded gratefully, "Thank goodness. I thought we'd never have a proper time or place."

"We may not," he said, "but I'm willing to be a little improper tonight."

He stood awkwardly with his arms at his sides, obviously not quite sure what to do. When she recognized his anxiety, her own nerves settled and she stepped closer to him. Putting her hand on his elbow, she smiled up at him. He returned her smile with relief and instantly covered her hand with his own. Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips over her knuckles softly.

"I wish we could have come straight back here after seeing the doctor and never left."

She shook her head ruefully, "It would have been nice, but I suppose continuing to eat means that we must continue to work as well."

Wrapping one arm around her waist, he put his other hand on her cheek, "We won't stay here long. You need to rest."

She stiffened slightly, "I doubt that I'll sleep much. I'd rather be here with you."

"Elsie," he admonished, straightening to his full height, "If we are to be married, I have the right to ask you to go to bed."

She snorted at his choice of words, "If we are married, you have the right to take me to bed, but you do not have that right now."

The shocked expression on his face was worth the embarrassment of uttering such a sentence. She almost laughed until she saw the glint of determination in his eyes. He never liked to be bested in an argument. Bending until his lips were just a breath away from hers, he whispered fiercely, "Do I have this right?"

She had barely nodded before his lips were on hers, caressing, teasing, and demanding. His hand moved from her cheek to the back of her head and tightened while his arm around her waist drew her impossibly closer. When he finally released her lips, she was trembling from excitement and perhaps the tiniest bit of fear. She laughed softly into his chest.

"Was that funny?" he rumbled, still breathless.

"That was anything but funny, Charles Carson," she said, "I just thought that I rather like you exercising your rights."

He chuckled softly, "You need sleep tonight, not exercise. There'll be no more of that for now."

She bristled and pulled back to look at him, "Do I have no rights over you, then?"

"Well, I, um, that is," he blustered, stepping back slightly.

She pushed on his chest firmly with one hand and he stepped back again. She met his gaze steadily, "Do I not have the right to touch you?" She pushed herself up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, "Or kiss you?" By this time, his back was against the door, and she took the opportunity to wrap her arms around his neck, "Or hold you?"

His hands were on her waist to steady her and his eyes were half-closed as he breathed hard, "Elsie, you have all those rights, of course, but you need…"

"What I need, Charles," she said, eyes squeezed shut against the tears that threatened, "is to not feel that I'm two steps away from death or worse."

His lips covered hers again, gently now as he coaxed her lips apart. He pulled back for only a moment to say, "You will not die. Not yet. Not now."

She had no idea how long they stood there with him leaning back against the door and her leaning against him, but when they finished kissing her arms were tired, her cheek was chaffed by the stubble on his chin, and her lips felt bruised from his kisses.

"Thank you," she whispered, cheek resting against the smooth lapel of his jacket.

"You're very welcome," he kissed her forehead softly. After a momentary pause, he asked, "What would be worse?"

"Hmmm?" she pretended not to understand.

She felt his mouth pull down in a frown. Of course he wasn't fooled. "You said 'or worse'. What would be worse than death?"

She hesitated. Did she want to tell him? It was still a possible outcome of this mess, if she had the biopsy.

"Elsie?"

She took a deep breath and the words came quickly, not rushed exactly, but she wanted to get them out of her mind and into the air between them as fast as possible. "Have you seen anyone who has had cancer? Probably not, I'm sure. They're hidden away. It's not discussed. It's a female thing. They take off a woman's whole breast. And even the muscle underneath. The mother of the lady at Holbrook House had the surgery. She lived, but she could barely lift her arms. She was always in pain, and she never went out in company. She was so altered that she wanted no one to see her."

He shuddered and pulled her closer. "It is not can—it is benign," he whispered hoarsely.

"Unless I have the biopsy," she said, "then we might find that it is cancer, and I would face that surgery."

"We would face that surgery," he said firmly, "I couldn't take the pain for you, but I would be with you. You wouldn't need to do a thing."

"You couldn't do my work and yours too," she scoffed.

"No, I couldn't," he agreed and leaned back so that she could read the meaning in his eyes.

Her mouth went dry at the thought. It was one thing to know that he cared for her, but to think that he cared for her like that.

"You would leave Downton?" she whispered.

"I would be on your side and at your side," he said, and then his mouth quirked in a half smile, "The vows say 'in sickness and health'. We would just have the sickness part at the beginning."

"I still don't know if I want the biopsy. For now, I don't have cancer. If we decide to do the biopsy, we might find that I do."

"Elsie. If it is—if it is not benign, then it is not. The biopsy will only let us know for certain. Think of how you feel now. Will you ever be able to rest easy until you know it is not ca—dangerous?"

She knew he wanted her to have the biopsy, and she probably would for the very reason that he gave. If she didn't, then she would feel compelled every night to check for changes. Tonight, though, she wanted to concentrate on other things, but first she needed one answer from him. "Why will you not say it?"

"Say what? I have no idea what you mean," he asked as innocently as he could manage.

"Horrid liar," she scoffed, "Cancer."

"Because," he began and then his eyebrows furrowed, "I don't know. I don't want to even think of that associated with you, just like I don't want that lump inside you anymore. I want it gone and destroyed and as far away from you that we can possibly get it."

She nodded. Although his explanation was terribly confused, she thought she could understand it. Leaning back into his embrace, she allowed him to hold her. She needed his support, and he needed to give it. Her head rested on his chest, and she was lulled to drowsiness by the steady beat of his heart until he shook her gently and guided her to the settee. When they had settled down with his arm around her and her ear pressed to his chest again, mischievousness took hold and she asked, "Are you going to take me to bed now?"

"You, woman, are a minx," he said gruffly, "I will not. Not until I have that right, but I will sit here with you for as long as you wish."

She yawned, drowsy again, "Very well; if that is all that you will do. You need to obtain that right soon, though."

"I will speak to the vicar tomorrow, but it would still be nearly three weeks. Unless…," he trailed off.

"Unless?"

He hesitated and his shoulder shifted slightly. Her suspicions were instantly aroused. "It just occurred to me that if you allowed me to speak to her Ladyship, she might help to persuade Mr. Travis to help us with a special license."

"This thought just occurred to you?" she asked flatly.

"Yes," he said too quickly and his shoulder shifted again, "Well, perhaps I might have thought about it for a little while."

"A little while?"

"I might have stayed awake a little last night trying to think of a way," his shoulders shifted one last time.

"How long?"

He paused long enough that she was ready to insist he answer before he sighed and said, "All night."

"Dear, sweet man," she said and lifted her head from his chest to kiss his cheek, "We'll speak to her ladyship."

"You don't mind?" he asked, surprised.

"She will know soon enough if I have this biopsy, and I want to waste no more time than you apparently do," she said firmly, settling back down against his chest and closing her eyes.

She heard him murmur as she drifted off to sleep, "You have every right to insist."

Reviews are welcome as always