A/N: Ugh. Double skunk and turpentine ugh. Angst, lots of angst in this chapter. And I'm sorry for the length, too. I should have had this posted over the weekend, but couldn't believe they were having this much trouble. Maybe it's a good thing the website still doesn't work.
Angst is horrible, but two people with as much passion as they do are going to have arguments at some point right? Right?
Early December 2016
4:37 a.m.
The big red numbers shone through the darkness at him, mocking him.
Charles rubbed his eyes. Willing himself to sleep, he squeezed his eyes shut.
Without success.
If only it worked that way.
He sighed, blinking. His only consolation was hearing the breathing of the other two creatures in the room – Pepper, who snored in her little bed on his side of the room, and Elsie, deep in slumber on his other side. He rolled over slowly. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her up. Again.
Her back was to him, her nightgown visible on her shoulder as it rose and fell.
The fact that she wore anything to bed hurt.
It's been weeks since we made love.
She wouldn't want you anyway, not the way you've been behaving.
He reached for her, suddenly wanting to wake her. To tell her of his torment.
She could always make him feel better.
Not this time.
Elsie cannot fix this. Neither she nor you can do anything about it.
At the last second, he dropped his hand to the fitted sheet.
Don't bother waking her. She'd only be annoyed that you disturbed her rest. She's tired, too.
Thanks to you.
4:44 a.m.
He slipped out of bed and into the walk-in closet. Finding what he needed, he padded softly down the hall to the other bathroom. By ten minutes past five, he was showered and dressed. He slipped back into the bedroom. Pepper twitched, but his wife stayed still. He stood watching her for a minute.
She's so beautiful.
Bending over, he kissed her hair very lightly and brushed her forehead with his lips. He left a note in plain view on her dresser, knowing she would see it before she left for work.
He stopped at a 24-hour diner for breakfast before heading to the office. He might as well get an early start to the day.
0000000000
"Thanks for the mocha. I love when they bring out the peppermint, it's so festive." Beryl took a sip, then settled the paper cup in its holder. She tapped the steering wheel. "Hurry up, engine, we're freezing." She glanced at Elsie, who fiddled with her keys, putting them in her purse. "I thought you'd be another five minutes, you and Mr. Carson's goodbyes aren't known for being brief."
"He was on the phone," Elsie explained, taking a sip of her own drink. She hated lying to Beryl. Charles had been the way he was hunched over, typing furiously, eyebrows furrowed, had not made for a loving farewell. He had barely grunted goodbye when she left, shutting his office door quietly behind her.
Her heart ached. Not even a kiss.
Taking another sip of her tea, she hoped the hot liquid would dissolve the lump in her throat.
This is no time to get sentimental, girl.
The two women were on their way to the city office for the day. She had regular business to attend to; Beryl was dropping in to assist Ivy and Isobel on a massive medical records project.
"Ah," Beryl replied, as she drove down the main street. She was quiet while Elsie turned the heat up. "I don't mean to pry, but is something going on between you two?"
Elsie laughed, leaning her elbow against the door. "Of course you mean to pry. I would expect nothing less from you," she said, gazing out the front windshield.
"So is there? Something going on, I mean?"
Elsie huffed out a sigh, half in exasperation, half in thankfulness at her friend's ability to see what so many did not.
"I mean, I know something's going on with him," Beryl said. "That's no secret. He was Mr. Happy for months on end, and he's suddenly turned to Mr. Grouch for the last month. Bill asked about him after Thanksgiving. Charlie seemed all right then, a little tired, but lately – well frankly, he's been a right pain in the arse to most of the staff."
Elsie closed her eyes as they turned onto the highway. None of this was a secret, or a surprise to her.
"I only ask whether it's between you and him," Beryl said, compassion evident in her voice, "because I'm your friend, and I hate to see you suffer like this."
That got her attention.
"Me? I'm fine," she said. She wasn't sure how convincing she sounded. "Charles has had trouble sleeping lately. I know it doesn't excuse his behavior, but we're fine. Just busy. You know, the usual."
"'Fine?'" Beryl quoted. "Oh please, Elspeth May, William used to say that! It was code for him not being fine. Don't think you can get away with it too!"
The office manager leaned back against the seat, feeling the beginning of tears prick her eyes. They drove several miles without a word. Only when Beryl exited the interstate did Elsie feel comfortable enough to speak.
"He's closed himself off," she said quietly. "I know something's been bothering him for a while, but he doesn't want to talk about it. If I ask him, he only gets defensive. I've stopped asking, but he keeps pulling back from me." She didn't want to mention the sense of living on her own again, with a housemate she barely saw and spoke with even less.
"Maybe I need to talk to him," Beryl offered. She drove into the parking garage. "I can find out what's eating him."
It was tempting. Of anyone, if Elsie couldn't get to him, Beryl could. But this was different.
"No," Elsie said firmly. "I mean, I appreciate your willingness to help, but-" she bit her lip, letting out a long breath. "You're right, you know. This is between us. He and I. And...I'd like to keep it that way. He's my husband, after all," she said softly.
Beryl parked the truck. "I understand," she said, turning the engine off and looking at her friend. "Once, I'd have insisted on negotiating between you two – seeing as I did my fair share of that before you were married," a slight twinkle in her eye. She sighed. "But Bill and I talked about it earlier this year, after your wedding. Those days are done. You, Mrs. Stubborn, and Mr. Stubborn will figure this out on your own." She put a hand over Elsie's. "But you know I'm always here if you need someone to listen."
Elsie squeezed her hand.
"Thank you."
0000000000
Half an hour before noon, she felt like she had made real progress. A preliminary schedule for the attorney and staff reviews had been made for January (though she knew it would change many times before they actually took place), she'd spoken with Rosamund about the upcoming paralegal workshop, and finalized details for the staff holiday party. And all this was despite the fact she'd been interrupted more than she could remember.
Of course her door was always open. But normally not that many attorneys made their way to her office.
Gwen was first. She ranted for fifteen minutes over Mr. Carson berating her the week before for leaving work early.
"What else was I supposed to do?" she threw her hands up in the air. "Brandon couldn't get off work, and Mattie was sick with the flu – they wouldn't keep her at school! Has Mr. Carson lost his mind?"
Jane came by and expressed her opinion. She was less vehement than her red-haired colleague, but her concern masked by her stoicism affected Elsie greatly. Jane was followed by Jimmy, who went into a full-blown tirade. He had had it, he said. If the managing partner was going to reprimand his attorneys for events that were mostly overblown, he might as well find another firm to work for.
"It's not just me I'm thinking of," he said, leaning forward. "When he went after my husband – I'm sorry, Elsie, but that was uncalled for! It wasn't Thomas's fault the recycling company missed their weekly pick-up!"
"I know," Elsie tapped a pen on her desk. "Mr. Carson did apologize to him for that." Privately, she was relieved her husband had seen sense, after that incident at least. She managed to convince Jimmy not to quit, or at least not to think about it until after the first of the year.
She was grateful for the pile of work, and for the lengthy lull after the young attorney left her office. She was in the middle of looking over a spreadsheet of box files when someone tapped on her open door.
"Come in, Tom." She adjusted her glasses, hoping she wasn't about to hear more scorn poured on Charles. No matter how much he deserved it.
Tom seated himself in one of the seats in front of her desk, taking a peppermint.
"How are you, Mrs. Carson?"
He was one of the few to call her that. Somehow, the way he asked it almost made her cry. She took off her glasses. Wordlessly, he got up and shut the door.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you upset."
She waved off his concern, reaching for a tissue. "No need to apologize, Mr. Branson. You were only asking a question." She sniffed and leaned forward, folding her hands. "I'm holding my own right now, thank you for asking. Now, what complaint do you have against Mr. Carson?"
He half-smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't say I have a complaint. He obviously is upset about something, and is taking it out on others. I know he'll work it out. And when he does, he'll apologize profusely. We'll just have to ride out the storm in the meantime." He grinned wider and tossed the wrapper from the peppermint into the trash can. "I must say, even with his fits of temper, he hasn't acquired a nickname like his wife did several years back."
Elsie laughed and rolled her eyes. "Just because Mary called me the Scottish Dragon once, I've never heard the end of it!" She sighed. "I call the managing partner a curmudgeon from time to time, but he doesn't often deserve the name. He probably is getting called much worse behind his back."
"No," Tom confessed, "although, as you know many of the staff are getting frustrated. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I'm afraid not. I appreciate your concern," Elsie worked the clasp on her necklace back to its original position. "I know how difficult this is for everyone, and I'm sorry. Charles…can be hard to deal with when he refuses to confront a problem."
"You're right, but like I said, he'll work it out. With your help," the young man stood up, his hands in his pockets. "Sybil used to remind me that being married means you carry your partner's burdens along with them. Mr. Carson's been used to carrying everything himself. Perhaps he needs a reminder."
Elsie thanked him before he left. The weight in her chest lessened further when she checked her phone at lunch.
Charles Carson to Elsie Carson, 11:07 am
I'm sorry I didn't give you a proper goodbye before you left this morning. I love you.
She replied quickly.
I love you, too. See you when we get back.
0000000000
They returned to the main office in the mid-afternoon.
Wandering into the large storage closet, Elsie found Matthew staring with a bemused expression on his face at the rows of binders.
"What are you looking for?" she asked. He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair.
"I should know which is which, but um – the two inch, I think? The one inch is too small," he said, sounding unsure. "Three of them, please."
Elsie pulled them off the shelf, handing them to him. "Is there anything else you need?"
A small smile appeared on his face. "I could do with a more agreeable spouse at home right now, but then again, so can you."
"It's not often I justify Mary's behavior over my husband," Elsie began, raising her eyebrows, before seeing Matthew's expression. She chuckled. "All right, I never put your wife over Mr. Carson, but at least right now she has a reason for her mood."
"She wasn't this ill when she was pregnant with George," Matthew said under his breath. "The doctor thinks she'll have to deal with it until the end." He raised his eyebrows. "You can imagine how she took the news."
"Yes, I can. I am sorry," Elsie said sympathetically, patting his arm. "I have to say, I am impressed with how well she's doing. All things considered."
He shifted the binders in his hands. "She has a lot on her plate right now. Being ill on top of working, and the holidays are always more stressful. And we've got Marigold staying with us until the end of the week-"
"When does Michael get back from Amsterdam?"
"Not until the eighteenth," Matthew sighed. "When I told Edith we could help out, that was when I thought Mary would have improved health-wise. It's not that bad," he said, "Marigold is a sweetheart, as good as gold. Less of a handful than either of her cousins, not that either of them are horrible. But having another child in the house complicates things. Normally Edith wouldn't have bothered asking us, but she's in the middle of getting the year-end edition of the magazine to deadline."
Elsie was about to respond when they were startled by the sound of someone shouting from the hallway.
"-this is not what I asked for! The Southern District guidelines are very explicit, Judge Harding will not accept this-"
Elsie's heart sank. Charles was standing in front of the doorway to his office, his face red. He gestured to a document in Phyllis's hands. The secretary's voice was calm, although she looked upset.
"I prepared the brief the way you asked me," Phyllis explained. "You said that the header had to be a fourteen font size-"
"Did you listen at all to what I was saying? Must I spell everything out for you?" he cried. "The old guidelines called for that font." He huffed in irritation. "The margins are all wrong as well. I don't have time to look over your shoulder while you do the simplest task! You'll have to go back and do it again."
Several people had drifted out of their offices at the noise, including some from downstairs. The managing partner's voice carried far.
"I expect more from you," he yelled. "More than some shoddy work that any first-time secretary would slap together! Perhaps if you paid more attention to detail than what you're ordering for lunch-"
"Now see here!" Joe shouted, half-trotting down the hall. "That's not fair, Mr. Carson! She's been working on that brief all day today, and half of yesterday! She knows what's right, and-"
"I didn't ask you to interfere," Charles said coldly, taking the document from Phyllis. She was on the verge of tears, and fled down the hallway to the kitchen.
"She's my wife!" Joe cried, spots of red appearing on his face. "And she deserves your respect! You go too far!"
"You forget yourself, Mr. Molesley," Charles said. "I am the managing partner, not you!"
Joe opened his mouth to retort, but John quickly interceded.
"Joe, we all know how much Phyllis does," he said, glancing quickly at Charles. "You should go and check on her." The records clerk stood defiantly for a moment, glaring at the managing partner. He then turned and stalked down the hallway. Elsie let out a breath.
This has gone far enough.
"'We all know how much she does?'" Charles turned angrily to the younger partner. "Do I need to remind you who is in charge here, Mr. Bates?"
"Not at all, Mr. Carson," John emphasized his surname, his gaze icy. Charles looked around at the huddled staff, glowering at them.
"Does anyone need a reminder?"
Unseen by him, the office manager felt her blood pressure rise.
That's it.
"Stop," she said, in a low but clear voice. "No one needs a reminder, I think you've said quite enough-"
He answered without thinking. "I decide when I have said enough!" he blustered, "This is about my standards, which I set, and my secretary not meeting them! This has nothing to do with you or anyone else, but with Phyllis-"
"Who I hired," Elsie continued, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "I won't stand for you treating her or any member of staff in such a manner! They all work hard-"
"I'll be the judge of that," he shouted, losing control. "At least they work without excessive meddling, unlike the office manager!"
Her face drained of color. He knew immediately he'd crossed a line.
So did everyone else.
Beryl slunk back to her office and silently closed the door; John, Cora and Alfred did the same; Spratt, Denker, and Thomas escaped down the stairs, Madge and Daisy right behind them. Matthew grabbed Mary's arm and yanked her into his office, shutting the door.
Charles watched Elsie flex her fingers, balled them into fists. He was afraid to look her in the face.
"I'm going back to my office," she finally said, an edge in her voice he had never heard before, "and the managing partner should consider that it is precisely my job to know what's going on with staff." He could feel the fury pouring off of her. "But God forbid I be accused of meddling." She stormed to her office, and slammed the door so hard he flinched.
He went back into his own office, tossing the forgotten brief on his desk. Staring out the window at the darkening sky, he wondered how he'd let his troubles affect them this badly.
He wasn't happy, he knew he should never have unloaded on Phyllis like that. She doesn't deserve that.
I deserved the lashing from Mr. Molesley. Part of him was impressed, but he was also unsurprised by the records clerk's behavior. He defended his wife. Not like me.
Chastising her in front of the staff. What in the hell were you thinking?
Slumping into his chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes. They itched.
Even if you had the courage to apologize to her, she really wouldn't listen to you now.
She hates you, a nasty voice whispered in his brain. And why not? You've been pushing her away.
It was eerily quiet when he went down the hall. Most of the office doors were still shut. He could barely hear Anna downstairs on the phone.
Relieved to find the Molesleys still in the kitchen, he apologized to both of them. Phyllis had calmed, and appeared mostly like her usual steady self, but Joe was still mad.
Charles couldn't blame him for still being angry. He was angry with himself.
He didn't see or hear the office manager the rest of the day. He drove home without telling her he was leaving for the day.
Letting Pepper out the backdoor, he noticed the reflection of their Christmas tree lights through the window. It felt like a hundred years had passed since he and Elsie and Becky had decorated for the season.
Dinner was nearly ready by the time he heard the front door open. She greeted Pepper, and he listened to the sounds of her setting down her keys, hanging up her coat and purse and kicking off her shoes by the door with increasing anticipation.
She stopped dead when she came around the corner, seeing him by the table. Then she turned to go down the hall. Her eyes were empty, showing nothing.
"It's time to eat," he said softly.
"I'm not hungry," she snapped. Annoyance flared in him.
"At least eat something," he said sharply. Why can't I keep my temper with her?
"No," she turned on him. "I said I'm not hungry! This is not complicated!"
"If this is about earlier, can't you forget it for ten minutes and eat? I already made dinner-"
"Forget it?" she scoffed. "Forget it!? No one present will forget it! You made sure of that when you shouted at me in front of half of the bloody staff-"
"You were interfering!" he yelled, feeling his temper rising, unable to keep it in check. "I didn't ask your opinion!"
"No, but you needed it," she seethed. "You needed someone other than Joseph Molesley to remind you how much you owe to those who work under you-"
"It is not the position of the office manager to tell me how to treat the staff," he thundered. "Especially not in front of them-"
"Good God, Charles!" she shouted, slamming her fist down on the counter. Pepper whined from the living room. "Did you honestly expect me to listen to you yell at Phyllis for no good reason? To simply stand by and let you treat her that way? She didn't deserve that, she never has-"
"It is not your place to contradict me at the office, no matter how much you disagree with my methods!" he shouted. She gaped at him.
"My place?" she gasped. Her head went back and her eyes flashed. The Scottish Dragon from Mary's childhood description had nothing on the reality. He took a step back, and felt the counter behind him.
"My place?" she repeated, an ominous note in her voice. "How dare you! Is that what you think of me!? That I need to be put in my place?"
"You know perfectly well that's not what I meant! I meant you shouldn't challenge me in public!" he yanked a hand through his hair. She trembled, her eyes smoldering.
"If you haven't noticed, I've been doing that for twenty-five years!" she cried. "And it's only now that you're bothered by it? Too late, that ship has sailed-"
"Why couldn't you have just spoken to me later?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Why make a scene like that? We'll be lucky if no one talks outside the office!"
"No thanks to you," she pointed at him. "You were the one making a scene, first with Phyllis, then with your fucking comment about meddling! As for speaking to you later, I had to make sure the staff knew they weren't all going to be sacked! That they would have support!"
Deep down, he knew she was right. But her comment tore at the already raw wound inside him.
"Oh, I see," he fumed, standing up straight again and putting his hands behind his head, "You'll take their side first over mine. Throw me under the bus. I see where I stand with you!"
"This is not – you know I'm on your side!" she raged. "I've defended you to attorneys – did you know Jimmy was on the point of walking out? Gwen's had it, even Matthew is at the end of his rope! And I've had more than one upset employee in my office over the last few weeks, thanks to your horrific temper! And what do I get?" Her voice shook with intensity. "My husband shouting at me in front of our colleagues and friends, giving me the cold shoulder at home-" She turned slightly, putting a hand to her mouth. There were tears in her eyes.
The force of the words hit him hard. He opened his mouth to respond, but found he had nothing to say. His heart sank right through the floor.
"This isn't about Phyllis or any of them," she said thickly, quieter than before. "Or about how we work together. This is about you and me. Charlie," her voice broke, "what's going on with you affects more than just you."
"I know," he said automatically, quickly. Too quickly.
"Do you?" she asked, her arms crossed. "Do you really? When you snap at the staff for no reason, when you don't visit Becky, or see her when she comes here – she misses you, by the way, I've told her you're working very hard – do you have any idea what it's like to see her disappointed? When you brush Pepper aside, when you ignore me except to bite my head off…I've tried to let you work through whatever this is on your own, but I can't anymore. You have to tell me what's wrong. It's like…it's like you've gone back twenty years. When you were alone." She let out a ragged breath. "But even then, you weren't like this. Why do you keep pushing me away? What have I done?" Her voice broke on the last word.
Hurt, pain beyond what he thought possible coursed through him. Fear. Overwhelming, choking fear so bad he thought he might actually choke on it. He covered his face with his hands.
Even when I thought I might lose you, I didn't push you away. Now that we're married, I know how happy you make me.
The thought that I will lose you one day is unbearable.
It was easier to push her away. It was his first inclination. But she was so much a part of him, a part of his heart, his soul, it was just as painful, if not more, to distance himself. He knew it was wrong to hold her off, but couldn't seem to find a way to tell her what was troubling him.
To tell her how weak he was without her.
The damned nightmare kept showing him a ghastly picture of what his life could have been like. He knew it wasn't real. But the feelings and doubts and shame it stirred up had him paralyzed. That he would never be the man who was truly worthy of her, as he had said at their wedding. There were times that he felt like he fulfilled that, but all too often he felt like a failure.
When he would wake from the dream, it was worse than being asleep. Scenes from his life would parade through his memory. Taunting him. Thoughts of Elsie living for years on her own, caring for him, loving him, and he too stupid or obsessed with his work or frightened of his own feelings to do anything about it. Letting her suffer.
And what have you been doing now? The same thing as before. Stop being so selfish, and think of her.
She's hurting.
Shame welled up in him so strong he thought he might be sick. Hot tears flowed beneath his hands, and he sobbed, a low whining cry. Over his own grief, he heard her sink onto the sofa.
She was crying.
If she really despised you, would she be so upset? No.
It was several minutes before he could even begin to collect himself. He shut off the oven, dinner forgotten.
He didn't know how he would begin to make things right, but he had to try. Anything was better than this. He made his way into the living room, his face wet.
Elsie sat on the sofa, holding Pepper in her arms. The dog whined incessantly, clearly upset. Charles didn't blame her.
He had never seen his wife in such a state. She sobbed, tears pouring down her streaked face. He felt completely helpless.
There is literally nothing I could say to make her feel better.
He stood there powerless, fighting the overwhelming urge to walk out of the room, to shut himself away. Away from her pain because he couldn't stand his own.
Something moved him closer. He sat down next to her, expecting her to push him away, to yell at him.
No. That's what you've done, but never her.
It was incredibly difficult, but he reached out and put his arms around her. She shuddered a great gasping sob, and she cried against him. His shirt was soaked in no time. He rubbed her back, tucked strands of her hair behind her ears.
He whispered, not knowing if she heard him. That it wasn't her fault, that she'd done nothing wrong. That he was sorry for pushing her away.
Eventually her sobs quieted. She leaned her head, exhausted, against his shoulder. He took Pepper from her, and was relieved when the puppy licked his hand. He got Elsie to stand up, and with her consent sat her down in the kitchen. He put the kettle on for tea. While the water boiled, he called and ordered pizza.
They stayed up late talking. When Elsie expressed a craving for ice cream, he said nothing about it being December, but drove to Dairy Queen and bought her a Blizzard.
She listened, holding his hand, while he told her about the nightmare. Her thumb rubbed the back of his hand in an endless circle. This time it was she who held him as he cried, reassuring him with her presence. He then called the doctor, even though it was well past midnight, and left a message.
They crawled into bed, Elsie holding the sleeping Pepper against her, with her back against Charles's solid warmth.
"I'm not angry, not like I was," she whispered in the dark, his arms around her. "But this won't be over tomorrow. Or later today," she clarified. She turned her head, feeling his lips against her temple. "You and I will have to work through this. I wish I could tell you I'm going to live forever, Charlie," she touched his chin. "But I can't, and neither can you. I can't promise that I'll live to be one hundred years old. But when I said I wasn't leaving you, I meant it. If I die first, I will haunt you forevermore. You're stuck with me." She felt his smile against her hair.
He clasped his arms tighter around her. "And you're stuck with me," he murmured. "I've been an ass, a complete and utter fool. The thing I most regret about today is not that I yelled at you, as horrible as that was. It was that I forgot the most important thing – you are my wife first, and the office manager second. A very distant second. Neither my wife nor the office manager deserved my temper. I'm sorry," he whispered.
She squeezed his arm. "You're forgiven."
"I think I should give Mr. Molesley a raise," he said sleepily. "He was quite the knight in shining armor. Phyllis is very fortunate." He poked Elsie. "Did you ever imagine he'd be a better husband than I am?"
"Yes," she suppressed a giggle. She reached back and touched his face. "But I don't want him."
She waited for her husband to ask the obvious question, until she heard his soft snore. Smiling, she tucked the blanket around Pepper.
Within seconds she was asleep.
