A/N: Well, this chapter started out funny/flirty, went naughty, then serious. So a bit of everything. Elsie's outfit in this chapter (when she is, er, clothed) is based on what her alter ego wore to the ChildLine Ball in 2013.

Seriously, fellow DA fans, even though canon is now set (I have NOT yet watched the CS, please leave spoilers out of the reviews), fanfiction lives on. Please let me know what you think. Happy New Year to you all! Love, health, and peace to you!

November 2016

The evening gala at the Art Museum was in full swing. Attorneys and their guests mingled in the galleries, chatting with old colleagues, courtroom adversaries and friends. Some eschewed the priceless art to hover in the Main Hall closest to the champagne.

Elsie wandered through rooms of European paintings and contemporary exhibits on the ground floor. Sipping her drink, she was grateful to have both the opportunity to view such wonders, and the ability to do so outside of the normal visiting hours. The museum was closed to the public, open only to those attending the event.

She stopped in front of a painting by Bartolomeo Manfredi, Apollo and Marsyas. Pretending to ignore the two other people in the room, she stepped closer to the picture, her fingers touching her chin. The man next to her shuffled his feet. He was tall, wearing a charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, and a blue striped tie. His left hand was decorated by a white gold ring. It glinted when he ran his fingers through his silver hair.

Watching him from the corner of her eye, she repressed a gasp, disguising it as a cough.

"Isn't it interesting the way beauty has been portrayed in art?" she asked, admiring the men's bodies in the painting. "This picture, for example. The sculpted back and shoulder muscles…this artist painted Marsyas's nipples in vivid detail!"

The other man in the room, gazing at another painting, whipped his head around so fast Elsie heard his neck crack.

The man next to her barely blinked an eye. "Many Renaissance painters celebrated the human body," he commented, rubbing his prominent nose. "Both male and female."

"Yes," she agreed. "Although they painted an idealized perception of what they thought was beautiful. Artists today have different ideas, especially about women." She grinned. "Which is not a bad thing."

"Not at all," he nodded. "I like when artists, of any kind and at any time, have portrayed the female form in a realistic manner."

"What would you consider a realistic portrayal of the female form?" she asked, turning to him. She sipped her champagne nonchalantly.

"Hmmm," he mused. "My wife would make an excellent subject for a painting. Her hair, with its red and gray strands. The lines on her face from laughter and tears. She has a wonderful figure, too." An impish smile grew across his face. "When we're at home," he said under his breath, "I can barely keep my hands off her."

"Indeed," she said, swallowing hard. Her heart sped up. "And your wife? What does she think of you?"

He took in her long dark blue skirt, the white top covered with sheer blue lines, the sleeves that displayed her arms. The large drop earrings that matched her sparkling necklace.

She watched his eyes drift down with immense satisfaction. She knew he was eyeing the freckles on her chest by the sudden flush that appeared on his face. He cleared his throat and loosened his collar as if he was warm.

The room felt very warm to her.

"Oh, she feels the same," the gentleman said, the corner of his mouth turning up. "She treats me as if I'm a paragon of beauty. I'm hardly that," he shook his head, "but my fair wife loves every inch of my very realistic body. My round belly, the jowls on my neck. My creaky knees. And," he wagged his eyebrows, "my nipples."

The glass in her hand slipped, and she barely caught it with her other hand before it could drop and shatter on the marble floor.

"That-that would make quite a painting," she stuttered. She drank the rest of her champagne in one long sip, making sure to tilt her head back just so. She heard him gasp. "But would you like to see your wife portrayed in art form?" she asked. "I mean, like in a Renaissance painting?" Her eyes danced. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind if she sat nude for a class of art students-"

"No," More than a hint of force rumbled out of his mouth. He scowled. "Of course, I could never tell her what she could or could not do, but I would most definitely mind if she posed nude!"

Elsie could not resist teasing him further, seeing his temper piqued like that. Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Why? You said she would make an excellent subject for artists!"

"Not without clothes on," he rubbed the back of his neck, whether in frustration or exasperation she couldn't tell. "Yes, she is a woman of grace and charm, but she is for me to appreciate, not anyone else!"

He is adorable when he's jealous.

"Oh, I see," she said, trying not to smile. "A work of art for an audience of one?"

"Yes," he huffed. "I belong to her, and she belongs to me. Her expression without words when I have said something foolish, her wise counsel, her cold feet on my leg, her cuddling our furry child," his eyes softened. "Her seductive lilt when she wants to make love."

Damn him.

"Where is this wonderful woman?" she managed to choke out, raising her eyebrows. "I assume you hardly let her out of your sight, from the way you describe her."

He downed his champagne. "She had a work function tonight. She's rather a free spirit." He relaxed, smiling fondly. "One of the many reasons why I love her."

"Her nonconformist attitude may serve as another's gain," she said. "A man like you, at an event like this? It's quite risky of her. Women are attracted to handsome men like moths to a flame. Many won't care if you're married or not."

"I'm always on my guard," he replied, his expression serious. "Any woman who tries to seduce me will fail."

"No one disputes that you're the role model for fending off an irresistible woman," Elsie stepped closer to him, a half-smile on her face. She smelled his cologne, and knew he caught the scent of her perfume. "Because you are a man of integrity and honor." She lowered her voice. "No matter how much a woman teases you, or tells you how appealing your character is, or how very attractive you are in that suit, you will be true to your wife," she said, fingering her necklace. "It doesn't matter if a solitary woman hears the faithful description of your body - round belly, nipples, warts and all - and it makes her want to see for herself."

A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. "I don't have warts," he whispered.

"Naturally," she murmured, her face red. His nearness was driving her crazy. She turned her head slightly and bit her lip. "No warts, just a man, a real man who loves his wife." She peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes. He sucked in his breath, his eyes dark.

"Yes, I do," he rumbled. "Very much. And it costs me nothing to say it." He cleared his throat, glancing at the beautiful art around them. "These are marvelous pictures to appreciate, but they remind me that I would prefer to look at her, my best friend, my lover. In person," he emphasized. "I do hope you find something equally satisfying to admire tonight." Without another word, he walked out. She had to admire his resolve.

She sank down on a bench in the center of the room to catch her breath. Five minutes. Enough time so it doesn't look like I'm chasing after him.

As tempting as that option was.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." She jumped slightly, looking up at the other, forgotten occupant in the room. He had dark hair, wore a smart suit, and was at least twenty years younger than her. "Am I correct in assuming you are Elsie Carson, sometimes known as the Red Fox?"

"Yes, I am Elsie Carson," she said, standing up to hide her embarrassment. "I'm afraid I don't know you."

"Henry Talbot," he said smoothly, shaking her offered hand. "I've just moved to the area and started at Dickie Merton's firm. I wanted to apply at Carson, Crawley & Bates, but I understand you're not hiring now."

"Yes, that is correct," Elsie replied, hoping to keep the conversation short. Half of her mind was already outside.

"Pity. The firm's reputation is a good one. As is yours," he said, a slight smile on his handsome face. "I hope I didn't offend you just now."

"Not at all," she reassured him. I don't want to be rude.

"Good," his eyes gleamed. "Because I'd love to go and have a drink with you. Hear your opinion of a modern man's physique. I think you'd find it…satisfying."

What. The.

!?

Her mouth fell open. Heat flooded her face. He cannot be serious.

By the look on his face, he was.

This is a proposition.

Lord in Heaven.

She didn't know whether to laugh at him or slap him. She blinked rapidly for several seconds. "Mr. Talbot," she recovered, keeping her voice steady, "I am a married woman. A happily married woman," she clarified. A woman whose husband would undoubtedly throw you from the balcony upstairs if he heard any part of this conversation.

"I am aware of that," he said, brushing it off. "But as you seemed to enjoy toying with that other gentleman just now, I take it you're open to having a friendly drink with me? I do appreciate a woman with confidence."

"Oh, but-" Elsie caught herself before telling him anything more. She bit back a grin. He doesn't know what Mr. Carson looks like.

Well, I'm not going to tell him. Not now.

"Thank you for the compliment, but I must decline your offer," she said, willing herself not to laugh. "I must go." Henry nodded.

"Perhaps some other time. Good evening, Mrs. Carson."

She didn't respond to his comment, but hurried outside before she exploded in amusement.

At least you know you've still got it. Beryl will enjoy hearing about this.

Henry watched her leave, then went back into the Main Hall. He didn't understand why the group of attorneys laughed at him. His aunt Prudence Shackleton finally stopped her mirth long enough to set him straight.

He tried to avoid the managing partner of Carson, Crawley & Bates as much as he could.

0000000000

Clothes were scattered on the floor.

Elsie's arms were wrapped around Charles's head, her breath coming out in hard puffs into his hair. He sucked at the hollow between her breasts. Crying out, she threw her head back when he took one into his mouth, lavishing it with his soft lips. Then the other.

Slowly.

"Please, a ghraidh," she begged. She pressed him harder into her, her fingers curved around his ears. Wanting, needing more.

He gasped her name. Relinquishing her breast, he sat up as she moved forward, and claimed her mouth with his. He laid back down on his side, still kissing her, and pulled her on top of him, his hands caressing her back, squeezing her bottom, searching between her parted legs.

His touch inflamed her. The feel of his body against hers made her moan aloud.

He was everywhere, inside her, holding her hips in a rhythm. She went higher and higher, one hand tugging her hair, lost in her delight of him. She moved faster, not wanting to stop, not ever wanting to stop, until she was there, was there, was there, was there, was taking him in, all of him, oh God, he moved in then out, the pleasure was unbearable, was overpowering, was incredible, just there, yes there, over and over, the feel of her husband, her lover, them together, yes, they were one. She keened, and cried out, and sang her release until her body slowed and stopped.

She was shaking.

What he does to me, no one else could ever do.

Despite her own euphoria, she was aware her husband was left somewhat bereft.

Charles sighed, sprawled on his back. He smiled as Elsie kissed him full on the mouth. The smile grew to a smirk when she continued downward. "Are you satisfied, Mrs. Carson?" He rumbled. As long as she was, he would live with his own frustration. This old body just doesn't cooperate all the time.

"I am, Mr. Carson," she winked at him. Her skin was flushed and her hair was deliciously untidy. She had a number of new blemishes visible. "I want to make sure you are as well."She pressed a long kiss to the scar on his chest, then light ones on either side.

He laughed, stroking her hair. "I only mentioned nipples earlier because you did. I wasn't serious about you liking mine," he let out a short breath, realizing where she was going.

"I was serious," she breathed against his torso, her hands sliding down to his thighs. "I love every part of you, Charlie, every inch of you."

He meant to give her a smart remark, but his breath cut off at the feel of her mouth on his hot, hard skin.

"Oh God," he roared, his hips rocking forward. "S-s-so g-good-" He didn't want to hurt her, but dear God above, she made him do things he couldn't control.

He was most certainly not in control, not when she used her tongue like that.

How did he ever get so lucky, her freely giving him this, this pleasure, her lips teasing him harder, yes, forget the futility from earlier, he was right on the edge, on fire, he was at her mercy, but he didn't care-

Elsie lifted her head from her tormenting ministrations long enough to speak. "Don't stop, love," she murmured. "Come for me."

He did, with a yell that rang in her ears. She smiled at his blatant pleasure. When he finally stopped thrusting forward, he sank back into the pillows. She slid forward again to kiss him languidly on the lips.

Charles's chest still rose and fell several minutes later. "Thank you, darling," he panted. "You were marvelous. Wonderful."

"Mmmmm," she murmured under his chin. "So were you." She kissed him lightly on the lips, tracing her fingers across his stubble. "I love you."

"I love you," he replied, rubbing her shoulder. He pressed his thumb against her lips. "I'm rather parched, are you?"

"Very," she said. Her mouth felt like dry fuzz. Kissing her on the forehead, Charles sat up.

"I'll be right back." After he padded down the hall, she checked on Pepper (saying another prayer of thanks that their puppy slept soundly) before rearranging the mangled bedding back into its original position. She smirked, pulling the comforter up over her legs as Charles returned with two tall glasses of water.

"Thank you," she took a long drink, her eyes twinkling. "I have to say, after all the beautiful art I saw earlier this evening, my naked husband walking into our bedroom is the best piece I've seen."

"And I thought it was the water," he joked. He downed his glass and set it on the side table before joining her under the covers. "Are you sure I'm the best thing you've seen all day? I've heard so much about the newest attorney at Dickie's firm, the man all the women in the county are swooning over. He thinks you're beautiful. Ms. Anstruther will be insanely jealous when she finds out he flirted with you!"

Elsie snorted. "Yes, Charles Ernest Carson, you are the finest person I've seen today, or any day. Mr. Talbot is good looking, but he isn't you. As for Caroline – frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Charles hooted with laughter, hugging her. "Well said," he chuckled. "Dickie told me he was going to take the bulk of their work in the Springfield case. I know part of their strategy is to defer blame from their clients by shifting it to ours." He suddenly growled, his lips at her ear. "That rogue won't know what hit him. I'm going to throw his clients in the line of fire at the deposition next week, and enjoy watching him try to save them. Henry Talbot does not hit on my wife without punishment!"

"Now, now," she soothed, "it should be a compliment to you that your wife is regarded as beautiful, especially at her age." She couldn't help smiling.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Elsie Carson!" he slapped her with a pillow. "You look as though you're regretting not taking young Henry up on his offer!"

She rolled her eyes, an expression he adored. She flopped onto her side, her fingers playing in his chest hair. "Oh please, Charles," she scoffed. "As if I would choose any man over you! But I am allowed to enjoy the fact that the new, hot attorney in the county wanted my attention. I'm a woman, grant me that!"

"He wanted more than just your attention," he retorted, kissing her hand. "It does surprise me that he still propositioned you, knowing you were married!"

"He thought I was flirting with another man," she reminded him. "He didn't know you were the man in my life."

"Hmph," he grumbled, pulling at his hair. "I suppose I should cut him some slack. He didn't know what I look like."

It did bother him, more than he cared to admit. He knew he was being silly. But he couldn't stop himself from wondering what she really thought. If she indulged him because she felt sorry for him.

If she was sorry she'd ended up with him, an old man.

"You are my only love, the only man I could ever want," she whispered, tracing a circle around his scar. She had seen that look on his face before. How can he doubt, when we've been together so long? "I will love you until the day I die."

A memory, like a flash, took her back to the most horrible day she could remember. The day she almost lost him. She blinked back tears. "If you would have died that day at the courthouse," she said thickly, "I never would have married. I think I knew then I loved you, even if I didn't actually think the word."

He held her close, soothing her. She remembered the events of his bypass surgery better than he did. He had been unconscious for days…

You've never told her that you heard her.

"I knew then," he said carefully. Neither liked to dwell on that episode in their lives. Since she brought it up, I might as well.

I always meant to.

She raised her head to look at him, wiping her eyes. "What?"

"There's something you should know," he began, glancing at the ceiling. "The day I had my heart attack, I don't remember anything from the courthouse until I woke up several days later. Nothing solid, anyway. Except one thing." He shifted up from lying flat on his back, bunching the pillows. "It's hard to describe…I was, not floating exactly, but everything was blurry. I was drifting," he swallowed and touched her face. "When I talked to the counselor after I woke up, I told him that I was dying. Drifting away." Tears blurred his vision and he forced himself to continue. "Then I heard someone. You." Reaching for her hand, he clasped it as if he would never let go.

"You told me you were there, and that you weren't leaving." He suddenly laughed through his tears. "And then you said, in the only way you can, 'So don't you dare leave me.'" He brushed her cheek, taking a deep breath. "And then I knew how you really felt. You gave me a reason to come back. To live. You."

She sobbed, wetting his chest. The memory of that day, the sight of him immobile in the bed, the words she said were as raw as if it had just happened. The steady beat of his heart anchored her. "Charlie…" she gasped, "I was so afraid that you would die, that your last memory of me would be an angry one. When Matthew called, my entire life flashed in front of my eyes. I prayed like I had never prayed before. I couldn't imagine life without you…" she broke down again, causing him to do so as well.

"I never told you I heard you," he whispered, "because I was ashamed. Ashamed that after I recovered, it still took me years to tell you how I felt, and only after much prodding from Beryl. I got a serious taste of what you felt like when you had your cancer scare. I was terrified I would lose you."

For several minutes they simply held each other.

"I've wasted so much time, Elsie," he whispered. "I'm so sorry we haven't had more time together. It's my fault." He thought it was impossible to tell her what he felt for her. Words cannot express it.

"Hush, Charlie," she put her fingers over his lips. "We've talked about this. Let's not look back, but enjoy the time we do have. Besides," she quirked a smile, "I like to be optimistic. We're making up for it now. I don't regret that, do you?"

"Never," he raised his eyebrows. She sighed when he kissed her, and rolled onto her side. He switched off the lamp and wrapped her in his arms. "Goodnight, I love you."

"'Night," she murmured sleepily. "I love you. Pleasant dreams."

0000000000

He poured scalding hot coffee into the thermos. Rubbing his eyes, he turned the top until it was sealed tight. I'm going to need a lot of caffeine today.

Pepper nudged her nose against a chew toy. Elsie pulled the gate across the entry to the living room and bent over, scratching the puppy behind her ears. "Lassie, Mam and Da love you! See you later."

She took her coat off the rack and put it on, watching Charles pull his on. Bags were visible under his eyes. "Did you ever go back to sleep?" she asked. She was fairly certain she knew the answer.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"That's all right," she said gently. She hesitated, then said it anyway. "You've been having nightmares for a while."

He shrugged. "It will pass."

Something's bothering him.

"Have you thought about calling Dr. Winchester? Just to talk?"

"No," he said shortly. "It's just a phase."

"I don't think so," she said, in that don't lie to me tone of voice. "This has been going on for months." He closed his eyes. She can see right through me.

"I don't want to talk about it. Not now." He cast around, looking for a distraction, and found it on the clock. "We'll be late for work," he said, reaching for his keys.

She put a hand over his. "You and I both know this is more important," she said quietly.

He glared at her. "I'll take a sleep aid tonight. I'll be fine," he said defensively, not liking how sharp his voice came out.

She nodded, even though he could tell she wasn't convinced. "All right," she said. "Let's go, I'll drive."

As much as they were open with each other, there were still times when he would erect a wall. She didn't know what was causing the nightmares, but she guessed their conversation the night before had contributed to the latest one. It hurt to watch him suffer. She shook her head, getting out of the car in the parking lot.

He can be so stubborn.

Like someone else I know.

She hoped he would talk about it, sooner rather than later. She loved him more than she could possibly explain.

When he wasn't happy, neither was she.