A/N: Here's my groveling apology for the last chapter…smut, fluff, smut, fluff. The Christmas stuff – I'm allowed, it's still January 5th here, which is the Twelfth Day of Christmas. Twelve drummers drumming, etc, etc, etc.

I own nothing. Any mistakes you see are the result of another gargantuan chapter and me trying to do too much.

Mid-December 2016

In some ways, it was like starting over. In others, it was like they picked up where they had left off.

The Friday after their fight, Pedro's missed them, but their outing instead had been planned for some time. They took Becky out to dinner first and then to the Straight No Chaser concert.

Charles was elated to hear the sisters laughing and enjoying the music.

He laughed a lot, too.

Elsie delighted to hear him, and during the intermission, amused herself watching Charles and Becky elbow each other back and forth like children. She took several pictures of them together.

This is my Christmas present. My family happy.

The concert was a bright spot. There were still valleys to contend with.

The first two appointments with Dr. Winchester were difficult, much more so than Charles expected.

"Getting married, even when it's a wonderful event with the one you love, is very stressful," the doctor told him. "And the transition is not always easy, especially for two independent people like you and Elsie. You've had a lot of changes in the last twelve months."

Talking with a neutral observer about the nightmare was easier than telling his wife. Dr. Winchester mostly listened, with a question offered here and there. Charles found himself talking more than he normally did about himself, but was frustrated when he was told there was no "instant solution".

"This is a process, and it will take some time. Rome wasn't built in a day," the doctor smiled reassuringly.

Or a night, Charles thought. He was still plagued with uneven sleep, and he felt guilty whenever he disturbed Elsie. Taking the doctor's advice, he stopped lingering on his laptop in the evening hours. He also resumed what had been a three-day-a-week habit since his heart surgery: swimming.

"I don't know how you can get up so early," Elsie yawned the first time he set the alarm for five, "but if you like it, keep it up! And," she snuggled against him, "it's good for you." She kissed him slowly, lingering against his lips.

He was sorely tempted, but his body and mind were still not in sync. Sighing, he reluctantly kissed her once more, then settled himself into his usual position. Her back against his chest, his arms full of her. She drifted off quickly while he breathed in the scent of her hair.

It was damned frustrating. For her, as well as him. Dr. Winchester was quick to tell him their intimacy would return. Let it come naturally, don't force it. Charles knew it was wise counsel, but he was impatient to love Elsie again, to feel her body around him, inside him.

Patience.

He laughed quietly, keeping his movement to a minimum. This was not actually the first time he'd dealt with such conflicted feelings. Of course, the last time the cause had not been his fault…

0000000000

March 2015

Two months.

Two months of dates, of meals shared, of time spent together. She was even more beautiful now, something he thought previously would be impossible.

He was staring off into space when Robert walked into his office. Startled, he looked up at his partner's amused expression.

"It's not often you're caught daydreaming. I ought to enjoy this," Robert laughed at him for a moment. "I'm just leaving. Don't worry, I'll object to everything Richard Carlisle will bring up at Fred Walker's deposition." He left Charles's office.

Briefly, Robert wondered if the managing partner was thinking of a woman. He'd seen that look on more than one man's face. Then he set it aside. Charles Carson, a romantic? Pigs would fly first, as Mama would say.

Charles shook himself, forced himself to concentrate on his work. He succeeded for a quarter of an hour until he heard the familiar lilt of the office manager in the hallway, talking to Phyllis.

"Yes, I will be sure to mention that to Ivy," she said, doing a double-take in his direction. He realized he was staring, and felt his face grow warm. She turned back to his secretary. "I'll see you later this afternoon." She glanced at Charles again as she passed his door, a smile hovering on her lips. His eyebrows furrowed. She wasn't heading towards the stairs by the reception area. Then he remembered.

The interior staircase led to a door opening to the outside as well. There were no windows.

He got up and walked leisurely down the hallway, pretending to go in the direction of the men's room. No one was looking. He opened the door to the stairway.

"Mrs. Hughes?" He had to be sure no one would hear him call her name by mistake. That would blow their cover straightaway.

"Here." She stood on the landing between the ground floor and the floor above. He trotted down the eleven steps, suddenly wondering what he was going to say.

"I wondered if you'd come to say goodbye. I'll miss not hearing your booming voice through the wall today." Her blue eyes sparkled.

He gaped at her for several seconds. How she managed to sound both polite and drop-dead sexy at the same time was beyond all reason. And of course she was wearing the black skirt that perfectly followed the curve of her hips. He swallowed.

"I'll miss you too," he said, barely above a whisper. A shot of adrenaline ran through him when he saw her shiver, biting her lip.

He didn't care that someone could come through the door at any second. Leaning over, he drew her chin towards him and kissed her. A short, sweet kiss. He looked down at her, her pink face, her eyes half-lidded.

He kissed her again, opening his mouth over hers.

An echo of her moan wafted up through the stairwell. She stumbled backwards, he along with her. He was suddenly aware of his trousers feeling tight.

She was the only woman who could arouse him at 8:30 on a gray Thursday morning in March.

The concrete wall was cold against her back. She didn't feel it. Only the feel of the man against her, his big hands holding her waist in place. His tongue sliding over hers. She moaned again when she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his neck above his suit jacket.

They had kissed numerous times since their first, in front of the fountain at the park in January. But there was a singular heat to this one that neither of them had ever felt before.

She had never felt his erection before.

Her breasts against his chest, through her coat, were like throwing gasoline on a fire. He folded her collar back, pressing his lips against the softest skin he had ever felt. He flicked his tongue against her neck and was rewarded with a high-pitched sigh.

They had to stop. He had to stop. His body was rapidly approaching the point of no return, and unlike what he had thought in previous weeks, that she would be the one to hold them in check, she was positively encouraging him to continue. Her gasps and pants were music to his ears. And good God, now she was rocking against him, the friction of her body against his, his willpower ready to snap, his hips moving with hers. Her hands touched the clasp of his belt-

They both heard the beep and click of the door opening on the ground floor. Within half a second, he had leaped away from her, half-turning to try and calm himself. She pulled her coat around her neck, her eyes glassy. Andy Parker trudged up the stairs carrying a box.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Carson," he nodded at the managing partner, who nodded back. When the clerk had gone into the office on the upper floor, the interrupted couple stared at each other in disbelief. Then they laughed quietly.

"I must go," she said finally, her hand in her pocket. He heard the jingle of her car keys.

"I know. I-see you later?" he stuttered, still somewhat undone. He was gratified to see the flush on her face, her checking her hair, straightening her skirt.

"See you later," she smiled, blowing him a kiss.

He got very little work done that day. That evening, he resorted to self-pleasure for the first time in years. He went to sleep dreaming of her in his arms.

Somehow she managed to get through the day at the city office, though she knew Tom Branson looked at her strangely at least once during their short meeting. She was so distracted that afternoon she left her laptop behind.

On the other hand, she found the vibrator that night in her condo. It still worked.

Perfectly.

0000000000

The sounds of laughter and splashing water were clear even from the living room. Pepper barked. Charles poked his head into the hallway.

"Is everything all right in there?"

"Yes!" Elsie's muffled voice called back. He heard her say something to Pepper. There was a suddenly a shriek, a loud splash, and a sudden thud. The cracked bathroom door flew all the way open and Elsie yelled frantically, "Catch her, Charles! She got into the bath-"

The puppy raced into the living room, just past his outstretched hands. She was soaking wet and covered in bubbles. He approached her slowly, not wanting her to go back around him. He managed to corner her by the coatrack.

"Got her!" he yelled. Elsie closed the bathroom door. Picking Pepper up, Charles rummaged in the laundry closet for a couple of old towels.

"And what were you doing, Missy?" he asked, drying her off in the kitchen. "Mummy let you in the bathroom so you could see what she was doing, but that bath was not for you. That's just for Sybbie and Marigold." He shook his head, hoping there wasn't too much of a mess to clean up.

Two little girls standing in their nightgowns with wet hair suddenly appeared from the hall. Pepper lunged forward in his arms, but he held her back. "Almost done," he rubbed her head with a towel, then threw it over the puppy, letting go of her. She danced blind under the covering as the girls giggled.

"She's caught!" Marigold cried, clapping her hands. "She's caught in the net!" Pepper wriggled free of the towel and immediately made a beeline for the curly-haired youngster, who squealed and darted towards the sink.

"Save us, Uncle Carson! The sea monster's after us!" yelled Sybbie, her arm around Charles's leg. He picked her up, then scooped up Marigold in his other arm as the fearsome monster kept trying to jump up on him. Or lick him. One of the two.

He dropped the girls on the couch with a dramatic flourish. They laughed, bouncing on the cushions. Pepper lost interest and sniffed at the tongs by the fire.

"Can we have piggyback rides? Please?" Sybbie begged. "Uncle Thomas always gives us rides, they're Marigold's favorite!" Her cousin nodded enthusiastically.

With a sigh, Charles sat down in the recliner. "I'm sorry, but no. I'm tired," he said, wishing he could indulge them. He was strong enough to carry one of them in each arm, but his back was not strong enough for two growing girls. Maybe Marigold, but not Sybbie.

"Why not?" Sybbie asked, a smidgen of a whine on her voice. "Uncle Thomas doesn't get tired, he carried Georgie for an hour last summer-"

"Well, Uncle Thomas is a lot younger than I am," Charles said, trying not to take the slight personally. "That's enough, Sybbie Branson." He gave her a hint of a frown. She sulked, crossing her arms. The expression was so reminiscent of her mother he almost laughed. Instead he covered it with a cough. "Where's Aunt Carson?"

"In the bathroom," Sybbie turned around backwards and dangled her head upside down. "She fell over."

"What?" he cried. "Is she all right?"

"Yeeeesssssss," Sybbie dragged the word out as Marigold nodded. "She told us to come in here while she mopped the floor."

"Oh. Good. Well," he said, his hands on his knees, "Uncle Thomas might give you rides, but I bet he can't do this." He got up and went into the kitchen, returning with three oranges from the fruit bowl. He juggled them easily. Sybbie sat up straight, brushing her hair out of her face to see. Marigold's eyes were as round as saucers. He finished and received a round of applause.

"Wow!" Sybbie said. "Daddy can't do that!"

I know. He fought a smirk. "I've had lots of practice," he said, placing the fruit on the side table next to the couch.

"Can you do it again?"

It was spoken so quietly he almost didn't hear Marigold. He turned to the little girl, whose big eyes didn't leave his. "Please?" she asked. His heart melted. She was so shy, and seemed afraid of him the few times she'd stayed with him and Elsie.

To his recollection, she had never spoken directly to him before. "Of course," he smiled, his eyes soft. He picked up the oranges again. She gave him a toothy grin.

Elsie didn't come into the living room until half an hour later. By that time, Charles was almost through the second reading of A Visit from St. Nicholas.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

Sybbie leaned against him on one side in the recliner, engrossed in the book. Marigold was tucked in the crook of Charles's elbow, her thumb half in her mouth, her eyes heavy. Pepper snored from the floor. Flames snapped in the fireplace, breaking the quiet. The glow reflected against the multi-colored lights on the tree.

The picture before her was so perfect it brought tears to Elsie's eyes. Smiling broadly, she stepped into the room. "It should be a good night for two wee girls," she said. "It's past their bedtime."

Charles looked up and caught his breath. Her hair was wild and frizzy from the humidity, and there was a wet stain on the lower part of her blouse. It clung rather tightly to her.

"Yes," he managed to say, "Time for bed. Sybbie, go with your aunt-"

Sybil's daughter rubbed her eyes as she slid off the couch, and Elsie instinctively picked her up. "Ooh, you are getting so big," she said, walking down the hall to the guest room. Behind her, Charles carried Marigold, who nodded against his shoulder.

They tucked the girls into the double bed. Marigold woke up a little when Charles laid her down, but she rolled over onto her side and fell asleep before he'd pulled the comforter up by her chin. He kissed her on the head, smiling at the thumb in her mouth.

"Aunt Carson?" murmured Sybbie. "Can you sing me a song?" She yawned. Elsie tucked her hair back, sitting on the side of the bed.

"Yes, but just one," she whispered. "Then you must go to sleep." She began to hum very quietly as Charles stood in the doorway, letting the hall light shine in on the floor. He turned on the nightlight as Elsie sang the "Coventry Carol".

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,

Bye bye, lully, lullay.

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,

Bye bye, lully, lullay.

O sisters too, how may we do

For to preserve this day…

He had never seen or heard anything so beautiful.

When she was finished, she kissed Sybbie and stood up. He held the door open for her and closed it behind them.

"I love that tune," he muttered. "I remember my mother singing that to me at Christmastime. I loved hearing her sing," he smiled, remembering, "but you have a better voice."

"Thank you, Mr. Flatterer," she laughed, squeezing his hand before sitting on the couch. "I wanted to sing something quiet, I was hardly going to sing 'Jingle Bells' with Marigold asleep," she bent over picked up the flannel blanket that had fallen on the floor.

"Are you tired?" he asked, pulling out two wine glasses next to the decanter. "You must be. Sybbie said you fell in the bathroom."

"Oh," she waved it off. "When Pepper jumped out of the tub, I lost my balance and fell on my behind. No harm done. The girls thought it was funny." She took his offered glass of wine gratefully. "I'm not tired, actually. Anna talks about how she gets her second wind after Poppy goes to bed. She says she gets a lot of work done in the late evening. I didn't know if I believed her before," she sipped her port, "but she's right."

"You'll be tired tomorrow," he said, sitting down next to her with his own glass.

She gazed at him fondly. "Maybe, but I don't mind. It was worth having them here to see you reading them Clement Moore's poem."

"They liked it," he said. "And fortunately, 'tis the season." He set his glass down and leaned forward. He didn't want to break the mood, but knew he had to mention anything that affected him. It was part of their agreement. "Sybbie wanted a piggyback ride. They both did. I wanted to…but I know I can't carry them for long without injuring myself. Sybbie said Thomas gives them rides all the time." He rubbed his head. "It reminded me of my age."

Elsie touched Charles on the shoulder. "She didn't mean to say anything to hurt you. She's just a child."

"I know," he gave her a smile before looking into the fire. "It turned out all right. I juggled for them. Marigold asked me to do it more than once. She's never talked to me before. Not directly at least."

"She looked quite comfortable sitting next to you," Elsie kissed him on the cheek. "It was very sweet. Cora told me Marigold's a daddy's girl. She's missed Michael terribly while he's been away."

"Robert loves her, but I think he's used to Sybbie and George's exuberance," Charles commented. "Marigold has a different personality. She actually reminds me a little," he cleared his throat, "a little of me at her age."

"You?" Elsie asked, raising her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, nudging her affectionately. "I was a shy boy, and wasn't very comfortable around many people when I was young. I was very close to my grandfather, you know. He used to read to me when I was small. He had a workshop where he'd do woodworking projects, carving small animals. I used to sit in there for hours..."

He was far away, seeing a curly-haired small boy with legs dangling over a chair, wood shavings and sawdust on the floor. The smell of his grandfather's pipe. The reverie was broken when the dying fire popped.

"Sorry," he said, putting an arm around his wife, "I was just…remembering."

She touched his face. "Me too." He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"What were you remembering?"

"Mmmm, Christmases at the farm. We didn't have much, but they were lovely," she said quietly. "Hogmanay was always the real celebration, especially to my uncles, Mam's brothers. Her oldest brother, my uncle David, never to my knowledge celebrated Christmas. I always felt rather sorry for him, thinking Father Christmas never paid him, my aunt or my cousins a visit!"

"What was your favorite Christmas growing up?" he asked, finishing his port. "Do you have one?"

She grinned widely. "Easy. Becky's first Christmas. I was nearly nine, and it was the first year I really remember being excited about it. Mam, I think, was grateful that I loved to hold my wee bab sister so much. It gave her a chance to do all the baking and cleaning and such. I remember holding Becky on Christmas morning before Mam and Da were awake, thinking I didn't want anything else. She was like my own living doll! Of course," she laughed, "a little while later, I was terribly excited when Da gave me my stocking. The peppermint stick was huge. It took me days to get through it!"

He hugged her. "I doubt Father Christmas will leave one in your stocking this year then. We'll see."

"I guess it will depend on whether or not he thinks I've been a good girl," she said, giving him a cheeky smile. She got up, taking their glasses into the kitchen. He heard her open the dishwasher and start cleaning it out. Standing up, he stretched for a moment before putting out what was left of the fire. He then picked up the slumbering puppy and carried her to her bed.

Not a sound came from the guest bedroom.

Elsie hummed, opening the cabinet and setting plates inside. She had closed the dishwasher and was setting the wine glasses in the sink when she felt Charles slip his arms around her. She let out a soft sigh at his solid warmth. He kissed the top of her head, and she leaned back against him.

It's been a long time.

She didn't want to tempt fate, or push him, but she desperately hoped the evening would end with more than just a cuddle. His touch felt so good.

He murmured wordlessly into her hair, sliding his hands up from her waist, over her belly to cup her breasts. She gasped. Turning her head, she reached behind his neck to draw his mouth down to hers. Nipping his lower lip, she tasted port, and a hint of the bread pudding they'd had for dessert. But mostly she tasted him, her Charlie.

His lips moved over hers, and he glided his tongue between her teeth. He moaned when she pulled him closer. She responded with her own at his persistent touch, his fingers caressing the rounded curve of her soft breasts in his hands. Over the fabric of her blouse, he slid one hand up, finding the collar where it tapered to a V, and stroked the bare flesh. She broke away from his mouth, breathing heavily.

She tried to turn in his arms but failed. He continued his ceaseless fondling of her breasts with one hand on top while the other explored beneath her shirt. When he slid his hand into her bra and rubbed her nipple between his fingers, she let out a low cry and arched against him.

"Charlie," she whispered.

It was a good thing he moved his other arm back around her waist. She wasn't sure she would be able to stand much longer without it.

Charles bent his head over his writhing wife and sucked at the skin below her right ear hard. He grazed his teeth against her shoulder, his hot breath in bursts as he tugged at her blouse, pulling it so the right side slid down her arm.

He didn't want to overthink anything. He went by instinct, led by her panting and sighs, her subtle but growing rocking of her bottom against his groin. Pressing his hand against her belly, he thrust forward just as she moved back. She gave a loud cry and her knees buckled. He only just caught her before she fell onto the floor.

"Come with me, a ghraidh," he breathed into her hair. He pulled her to a standing position and thrust again, his arms securely around her. Her hands pulled at his neck. She was nearly weeping with desire.

Finally turning her in his arms, he leaned his head against hers. "My darling, come away." The corner of his mouth turned up. "The bairns and the dog are asleep, and our bed waits for you." He kissed her forehead.

She did not think it was possible to be any more aroused until he spoke. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him passionately. "A ghraidh, take me to bed," she gasped, trembling. Her eyes were dark. "I want-I need you, Charles."

They undressed each other in the bedroom, the door closed. She was on fire for his touch, and almost ripped his shirt from his body. All of her restraint was gone.

I am dying for his touch. My man, my lover, my husband, release me.

Her palpable ardor made him groan aloud. Her breath against his chest, her fingers unzipping his trousers combined to make him fully erect before he managed to pull her blouse off. He held onto the post at the end of the bed as he yanked his trousers off one leg at a time. She was fully undressed in bed, the covers turned down by the time he got his shorts off.

She rose up on her knees and reached for him. Without a word, he climbed onto the bed and into her outstretched arms.

She wants me. She wants me.

For God's sake, stop thinking. NOW.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, her pressing one of his hands to her breast. The other teased her core. That lasted only seconds.

"God, Charlie," she rasped, her hips moving at a frantic speed against his torso. "Now, a ghraidh-"

He laid down and pulled her on top of him. He entered her almost in the same motion. Thrusting hard, harder, feeling the explosion of her climax around him. She was around him, inside him.

She keened, her voice rising higher as the sensations broke over her like a wave, one after the other. Wild cries erupted from her mouth. She was in their bed, taking him in, milking his pleasure, but she was far away on the shores of the sea, the thunder of the water released from the swell of the incoming tide.

He held her against him, closer, closer. Pounding into her. Increasing the friction against her nub, feeling her wetness and his seed together. She was loud in his ear.

Closer, closer.

Their skin was damp with perspiration when he cried out, shouted his ecstasy. Elsie, his lover, his woman, God, he had missed her, missed this, missed them, she had missed him, missed her mate, every cry he heard from her he felt in his soul.

I will never leave you. You are my only.

Even if she were able, there would be no need to tell him not to stop. To keep going, to take her like this, almost rough yet his gentle hands at her back, moving her in a rhythm that brought him deeper, closer to her.

He pushed inside her once more. Her cries stopped, and she lay gasping against the steady drum of his heartbeat. Her throat was raw but she was too exhausted to do anything about it. For a long time there was nothing except the sound of their rapid breathing.

"I love you," she whispered through dry lips. "That was-incredible, husband." She dissolved into laughter, all tension dissipated. He rubbed her back. They kissed again slowly.

He felt as though their recent estrangement had served to bring them even closer together. Not that he had any desire to repeat the episode.

Cherish your wife. No matter how much time you or she may have.

"You're welcome," he told her as they settled sleepily under the covers. "You are a marvel, wife. I love you, Elsie." He kissed her fingers.

Before she dropped off to sleep, she heard him chuckle. "I hope we didn't wake the bairns."

0000000000

Breakfast was a quiet, if hurried, meal the next morning. Charles had to encourage the girls to eat their cereal and fruit multiple times. Normally he would have needed more coffee to remain in a good mood, but the previous night's activity took a powerful, if temporary, place instead of caffeine.

"Just a few more bites of cereal, Sybbie," he said. "You've done well, all of your fruit is gone."

"Uncle Carson, can I have more grapes?" Marigold asked. He glanced at her plate and bowl.

"May I. Yes, just a few more," he dropped five onto her plate as Elsie swept into the kitchen, looking harried.

"Sybbie, do you have your backpack? Oh, there it is," she said, pouring herself a cup of tea. "You and I need to leave in about five minutes, dear." Sybbie nodded, munching cereal. She and Marigold giggled under their breath.

Charles got up and carried his cup and plate to the sink. "Good morning," he greeted Elsie with a kiss on the cheek. "Can I get you something? Toast? English muffin?"

"Either is fine, thank you," she said, pulling on her sweater. He dropped a muffin into the toaster, turning down the setting. He had a bad habit of burning things in it. Toasters hate me.

"Are you cold?" he asked. "You hardly ever wear that-"

She gave him a rueful smile, blowing on her tea. "I know, but it was either wear this or wear something else and dab makeup on my neck."

"Sorry," he smirked. She slapped him playfully with the Arts section of the newspaper.

"You'd better be," The tone of voice meant the opposite.

"Aunt Carson? Is Pepper a guard dog?" Sybbie asked. Elsie shook her head. The muffin popped up and Charles spread some apricot jam onto it.

"She quite protective, but no, she hasn't been trained as a guard dog," she said, biting into one half of her breakfast. "Why?"

"Because the sea monster might come back," Marigold said. Charles raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about him. I think he goes someplace warmer in the winter," he said in a soothing tone, picking up his briefcase and setting it on the floor.

"Her," corrected Sybbie. "And she's not gone, we heard her last night. She was shrieking in your bedroom-"

Elsie choked on the English muffin. She turned aside, coughing, her face red. She and Charles shared a horrified look. When she could talk again, she thought about how she could get the children's minds away from asking potentially embarrassing questions.

"Well, Marigold, perhaps you should ask your father about it when he gets home. He has to fly over the Atlantic, maybe he'll see her! Sybbie," she held out her hand, "time to go. Say goodbye to Marigold and Uncle Carson." She finished her tea as the older girl picked up her backpack and grabbed her hand.

Charles gave Elsie a quick kiss. "I'll be in a little after eight, after I drop Miss Marigold at Edith's."

"Right, see you," she said, pulling on her coat with one arm. He helped her into the rest of it.

Late that afternoon, Elsie's cell phone buzzed.

Tom Branson to Elsie Carson, 4:17 pm

Thanks for looking after the girls last night, Edith sends her thanks as well. They had fun. But what's this I hear about a sea monster? More like Nessie's been moved from Scotland to America! ;)