A/N: I've had this plot point in my mind since, well, the Paris attacks in November. TW for news of terror.

Mid-December 2016

It was a quiet Friday morning, exactly a week before Christmas. The firm office party had been held the night before, the partners always agreeing to limit everyone's alcohol intake by holding it on a Thursday. Their intention was rarely successful. Naturally, the staff was subdued the next day.

"I only had two drinks," Beryl said, stirring her coffee in the kitchen. She stifled a yawn. "Usually I have twice that before Bill stops me."

"Three and a half," Elsie corrected. She blew on her tea. "Don't you remember those cinnamon-flavored shots we had when we arrived?" Beryl grinned.

"Oh yeah…"

They walked to Beryl's office, chatting about the party and the upcoming holiday.

"What will you be getting from Mr. Carson?"

Elsie leaned in the doorway. "Oh, nothing much, I shouldn't wonder. We did get married this year, and next year we want to sell the house. I got him two new suits, and several books he hinted at." She sighed. "He's so difficult to buy for!"

She had yet to buy him anything he did not want or need.

"Bill and I do our shopping for each other together," Beryl said, opening her email. "We just point and say – 'that, that, don't get me that, are you mad?'"

Laughing, Elsie shook her head. "But there's no fun in that! No surprises!" Her friend shrugged.

"We're too old for surprises. Besides, he likes to wrap my things in strange-shaped boxes, so I can't guess what's inside them. That's all the fun I need. Speaking of fun," she swung her chair around, "when you and I were out last week, what was going on when you bought that lace satin slip from Victoria's Secret? I thought that was going to be one of the presents old Charlie got you. Was he too embarrassed to go and get it himself? Made you do the work?"

The office manager raised an eyebrow. "No. One gift from him was a gift card to the store. He didn't want to risk buying something I did not like." Beryl frowned.

"But why did he give you the card before Christmas then?" She raised her own eyebrows at Elsie's expression. "Oh, I see. His gift to you was the card, and your gift to him is…letting him enjoy whatever you bought. Or rather, enjoy what's underneath whatever you bought."

"Shhh!" Elsie hushed her, turning pink. Madge and Alfred were passing by in the hallway.

The records clerks supervisor laughed. "Don't act the prude with me. Everyone around here knows what goes on between you two. Thank God you both got your act together, you both are in much better moods than you were a few weeks ago." Her eyes twinkled. "Tom Branson told me last night Sybbie and Marigold are convinced the sea-monster lives at your house. Specifically in your bedroom. I can't think of any possible reason why."

Rolling her eyes, Elsie went to leave her office, a smile on her lips. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Ha, very smooth, Mrs. Carson!" Beryl called after her.

0000000000

The frigid air stung Charles's face as the group walked back from the courthouse. Reaching out, he took Mary's arm when they crossed the street. She sighed, but didn't take her arm from his.

"Really, Carson, you're worse than Papa."

"There's ice in the road," he protested. "We can't have you slipping and falling over." He gave her his most innocent look. "I'm thinking of the baby, if you must know."

She burst out laughing. "You don't fool me. Although I know you care about her. I think you wanted me to have a daughter even more than I did."

"Maybe," he couldn't help smiling. He opened the door for her as they went in, and for the rest of the attorneys from their firm, until John brought up the rear.

"Are you ready for Christmas, Mr. Bates?"

The dark-haired man nodded. "I think so. We still have some wrapping to do. Thank you for hiding most of the presents at your house – Poppy's been looking all over for them." He sighed as they walked into the main lobby. "I thought having two children would mean double the presents, but it's more like they've quadrupled."

"Blame their grandparents for that," Charles said. Perhaps he and Elsie (and Margaret) were spoiling the children a little, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

He looked in on Elsie before going into his office. She glanced at him, looking over her glasses.

"The hearing didn't last long. Judge Harrison must have been in a generous mood."

"He was," he leaned over her desk. "Part of the Christmas spirit, I suppose. I'll take it." He meant to kiss her lightly on the cheek, but she turned her head and pressed her lips to his.

"Now get away with ye," she murmured after a lingering kiss, followed by another. "I have a lot of work to do before we leave today. And heaven knows I won't get any of it done with you in here."

"Likewise," Charles said in a strangled voice. He straightened up and went into his office.

After a brief meeting with Phyllis, he worked steadily for another hour. It was just coming up to ten o'clock when he heard a door fly open. Cora, struggling into her coat, flew down the stairs without looking back.

Charles frowned. He had become more lenient when it came to attorneys or staff leaving in the middle of the day (except for his recent bout of inhumanity), but it was out of character for Cora to not at least say something to him.

He bent over his computer, cross-checking the motion he wrote with the notes from the case file.

"Carson? May we come in?" Robert stood in the doorway, Mary right beside him. Charles knew instantly something was wrong. Mary was white as a sheet; Robert's face was ashen.

"Of course," he said quickly, motioning for Robert to close the door. The two sat down in the chairs next to his desk. Mary's hands were folded, and she stared off into space. Robert put a hand on Charles's desk as if to steady himself.

"Carson…Michael Gregson is dead."

Whatever Charles thought Robert was going to say, it wasn't that. His mouth fell open in shock. Sitting stunned for several moments, he cleared his throat. Dead…Mr. Gregson…impossible…how?

"What…what happened?"

"You might…have seen something on the news earlier," Robert was breathing heavily, struggling to get words out. "A terrorist attack in Rotterdam early this morning. A suicide bomber…"

"No," Charles exclaimed. "Oh God." He leaned on his elbows on his desk. "But…how do you know he was one of the victims…"

"Because he was meeting a friend who was going to take him to the airport," Robert said. Mary put a hand on his arm and he squeezed it. "Jeroen was across the street. He saw Michael outside the café where they were meeting. The bomber was right next to him…"

Robert's voice cracked on the last word. Charles sat forward and covered his face with his hands. The horror of the moment was palpable. He had not known Edith's partner well, but the editor had always been genial and kind. And he had helped Charles and Elsie in their difficult predicament with Edna. Was that less than a year ago, it feels like ages. Dear God, what Edith will be going through. And Marigold, to grow up without a parent.

Like Sybbie.

"Police officers told Edith at work. She called us first, then Rosamund, since the city office is so close to the magazine, as you remember," Robert said, his voice raspy. Charles nodded, unable to speak. "My sister's already there." He broke down and cried, something he hadn't done since Sybil died.

"If there is any comfort in it," Mary said thickly, "it's that we know he didn't suffer." Her red-rimmed eyes met Charles's. She took a tissue out of the box on Charles's bookshelf (Elsie's idea, I'm glad she insisted on it now) and dabbed at her eyes. "Carson," she swallowed, "Matthew is getting plane tickets for Edith, himself and Aunt Rosamund right now. He has contacts in Europe and will help get Michael's…remains home." She touched her father's shoulder. Robert collected himself and sat up in the chair.

"Cora's gone to get Marigold. Normally, I know we'd work out an arrangement when we're taking off work, but-"

Charles stood up, waving his hands. "No need to ask my permission. Go. Forget about work, we'll manage. Be with your daughter and granddaughter. They will need you now, more than ever," he said softly. The two stood up. Charles looked at his goddaughter.

"Go get George," he said quietly, knowing that look. "Your family is the most important thing right now." She nodded. He could see the relief in her eyes. The door cracked open. It was Matthew.

"I've got the tickets," he inched in the door and closed it. "A flight to New York late this afternoon, then the overnight to Rotterdam."

Charles reached out and put his hand on Robert's arm. "Please tell Edith Elsie and I send her our condolences," he said. "If there is anything we can do, let us know."

"Thank you," Robert wiped his face with a handkerchief. "Actually, there is something you can do." He sighed, closing his eyes. "I am sorry to ask you to do this again on behalf of my family, but could you tell the staff here? Mama and Isobel know, Rosamund told them, so I expect everyone in our city office knows about it by now."

"They do," Matthew confirmed, his arm around Mary. He looked directly at Charles. "Tom rang and said he was going to pick up Sybbie."

"As he should," Charles said. "Yes, I will tell the staff." The Crawleys left his office quietly. He walked over to the door and closed it behind them, breathing deeply.

Gone. Just like that.

He made up his mind in an instant. Stepping over to his desk phone, he hit the button for the city office, then an extension. Thankfully, she picked up.

"Isobel?" he said. "Robert's just told me. I am so very sorry."

"All of our sympathies are with Edith and Marigold right now," she said, the sadness heavy in her voice. "Carson, Violet and I made the decision to close the office. She and I are leaving, and Rosamund's already gone-"

"You made the right decision," he said quickly. "We'll talk over the weekend. Go be with your family." After hanging up the phone with Isobel, he took one breath, then hit another button for the office next door.

"I need you." He could feel his resolve breaking.

She could hear it in his voice. "I'll be right there."

Seven seconds later, there was a light tap on the door and Elsie came in, her expression worried. Without a word, he walked over to her and put his arms around her.

He breathed in the scent of shampoo that she used, the feel of his wife in his arms. She held him as he cried without knowing what gave him pain. When he was able to speak, it was his turn to hold her. Her face went white.

"Oh my God," she whispered, tears running down her face. "Dear Edith and Marigold – how terrible."

Charles rubbed her back and kissed her head. She tried to turn her face away so she wouldn't get his suit jacket wet, but he held her closer. "Don't worry about it love," he whispered. "Not now. It'll wash."

Elsie managed to collect herself, sitting in the chair Robert had vacated. Charles rang downstairs. "Anna," he said almost sounding normal, "Page everyone to meet in the conference room in five minutes. Put the reception phones on night ring so you can come as well. No exceptions, I want everyone in there."

"Yes, Mr. Carson." Anna's voice was heard over the intercom within seconds.

They all met in the conference room, some sitting at the table, the rest crowding along the walls. There were gasps and cries of disbelief when Charles told them. He spoke quickly, wanting to get the message out as fast as possible.

"As the names of the dead have not yet been released in the press, I strongly urge all of you not to do so on social media, or with those outside this firm. When Edith decides to inform those outside her immediate circle, then you may speak about it. But if Mr. Gregson's name appears in the media because someone at this firm was indiscrete, then that person will no longer be an employee here. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a general murmur of agreement and nods around the room.

"Good. One more thing." He glanced at Elsie at his left, gripping her hand tighter. "This is a day of deep sadness, similar to one that most of us experienced a few years ago." He saw Anna crying, John with his arm around her. Thomas, his face pale. "This office will close for the day. I expect all of you to spend time with those you love. For none of us knows when it will be our last day. That is all."

It was not until they had all filed out of the room that he realized he had been holding Elsie's hand the entire time.

He didn't care.

0000000000

Elsie felt almost overcome by the horror of what had happened. When she regained some control over her emotions, the only thing she wanted to do was be with her family.

She and Charles left the office, went home and changed their clothes, then drove to Becky's home with Pepper.

"She won't be expecting us, not in the middle of the day," Elsie said as they walked up the sidewalk to the front door. "But she'll be happy to see us, I'm sure." Charles pulled a little on Pepper's leash to keep her from wandering into the mulch.

"As we are to see her," he said. He hoped they could set aside their shock during their visit.

Becky was indeed very happy to see them. Her caretaker Melissa was a little confused, but was reassured by their explanation of an impromptu afternoon off. The three had lunch together, then at Becky's insistence they took Pepper for a walk. The sun had come out. Elsie walked with her arm linked through her little sister's, grateful for the opportunity to spend time with her. They laughed at Charles, who tried to get Pepper to fetch a stick.

The puppy was more interested in jumping on him than anything else.

After their walk, they spent time in the cafeteria drinking hot chocolate and playing Becky's favorite games. Charles lost to his sister four times playing Candy Land, then both he and Elsie were slaughtered when they switched to Go Fish.

They stayed through dinner right up until Becky had to go to bed.

The ride home was quiet. Elsie wanted to talk about what had happened, but the impact of the news earlier in the day impacted her physically. She yawned as they went into the house.

"Tired?"

"Yes," she blinked in the sudden light in the kitchen. Charles got Pepper's food out of the cabinet and put some in her dish.

"You should go to bed," he said gently. "I'll be along soon, too."

When she got into the bedroom, she could not muster the energy to undress. She kicked her shoes off and crawled under the blankets fully dressed. Her mind raced.

Poor Edith. I could not imagine…they expected Michael home tonight, and they'll never see him again.

That's not true.

She turned her head into the pillow, letting the hot tears soak into the cover.

Charles had nightmares that I never existed. As much as I sympathized, I did not understand.

It wasn't that she had underestimated what he had felt; the past few weeks made that impossible. But a part of her had not understood his fear, really understood it the way he had described it to her.

The thought that she could lose him in an instant, like that, one moment here, the next not, was something that she had understood on a cerebral level. But now it was in her heart, like a splinter she couldn't reach.

He is older than me. Most likely he will die before me. And I will be alone.

She knew she was a part of him, and he of her, that in a certain way they never would be apart. But she couldn't stop thinking of a coffin with him in it. Friends and family murmuring sympathy, words of comfort.

The vision of herself in black, standing looking down at his motionless body, was unbearable.

All this time he's said he is weak. That he could not imagine living without me.

I cannot live without him.

Elsie was terrified at the thought. All her life, she had been a strong woman. Independent. Able to care for herself and others. Now, less than a year removed from their marriage, she felt a certain vulnerability. Like standing in a skyscraper in front of a window, and it suddenly vanishing.

Maybe you never were that strong. Maybe you were only because you had to be.

You're one of those women who marries and then becomes dependent on her husband.

"No," she huffed into her pillow, turning over. Surely she was made of sterner stuff than that. If I was younger, like Edith or Tom, it would be different. I'd find the will to carry on. But now…

Life without Charles Carson felt like looking into a dark chasm.

She thought of the irony of the situation – Charlie, opening up and going to therapy, while she resisted introspection, thinking she didn't need it.

She started laughing, then crying. She didn't hear her husband come into the bedroom.

"Elsie?"

She sobbed into her pillow, not able to put into words what she felt.

Charles slipped his shoes off and climbed in next to her. "Shhh, lass," he whispered, drawing her into his arms. "I know. To lose someone like that, it's…horrible. A shock."

Elsie lifted her head from his chest, her tears dripping onto his shirt. "I can't lose you," she said. "I can't. Not like that…" Part of her didn't want to say it. But she could not stop herself. She gripped his shirt, feeling his warmth. "Please don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, brushing his fingers across her face, wiping her tears.

"God, I'm a mess…" she groaned, crying harder. What must he think of me? He thought he married a strong, self-sufficient woman.

Instead, he married a closeted basket case.

"Yes, but you're my mess," he said. He smoothed his hands over her hair. His tone made her giggle in the midst of her sobs.

"I think I need therapy."

"Well, if you want to go, I know a doctor. My wife encouraged me to go…" she looked up, a watery grin on her face. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling softly. His expression grew a little more serious. "It's all right to tell me that you don't want me to leave you," he said. "I know you don't, and I don't want to either, but we need to talk about it. Especially now."

She lay back against him, her ear over his heart. Thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum.

"Elspeth May, you are not weak," he rumbled. "Never think that. You love your husband. And I love you," he whispered, his lips tickling her hairline.

"I love you, Charlie," she said. She sniffed, wiping her face clear. "I'm sorry I was emotional-"

He turned onto his side, his arm around her. "Never apologize for that. Never."

She put a hand over his heart, unable to look him in the face. "I always want to be strong for you," she said in a small voice. "You deserve that, someone who helps you, not a burden."

"Elsie," he said, in a voice that brooked no nonsense, "You have shared my burdens for over twenty years. If you start sharing yours with me, which is my right, then we might be on a more level playing field." He pulled her closer into an embrace. "Let me help you the way you've helped me. We're married, this is what we do. You'll always be an independent woman, and I love that about you. But let me help carry your burdens. You are not alone. I'm here, love."

"I know," she choked out, a lump in her throat. "But if something happens to you, I can't fall apart. It's not fair to think like that, not after I've been telling you to stay strong."

"It is completely fair," he argued. "Neither one of us knows how the other would react in the event of death. What is unfair is setting some sort of emotional cap on what you would feel in a situation that hasn't happened."

Elsie could not argue with that. They talked for a while longer before preparing for bed.

Robert texted Charles, telling him that Edith, Matthew and Rosamund had left on the flight to Rotterdam from New York. Marigold did not fully understand, he thought, but when she did, they would be there to help her.

Charles leaned over as Elsie climbed back into bed after brushing her teeth. "Look at this picture." Under the caption of 'Two Sleeping Girls', were Cora and Marigold asleep.

Even though her chest felt tight, Elsie smiled. "Poor wee girl. At least she has a loving mother and family to look after her." She pursed her lips. "And you, Charlie. She took quite a shine to you the last time she stayed here."

"Mmmm, she did," he agreed, turning the light off. They snuggled in the darkness. "We'll have to have her over sometime next year – not soon, I'm sure Edith will want to keep her close by for a good while, but sometime."

"I think she would like that. I know I would," Elsie said. She moved slightly, kissing Charles. He held her in place, his warm hands caressing her lower back. Their kissing grew more heated. Elsie broke away.

"We shouldn't," she said, laying back against her pillow. Charles stroked her arm.

"Why ever not?" He was not upset, just confused. She glanced at his outline, the shadow of him in the dark room.

"Because…because Michael Gregson is…is dead," she bit her lip, not really knowing why she felt it was wrong. Somehow it felt disrespectful.

He rubbed her shoulder. "Yes," he said, still confused. "Well, if you don't want to, good night." He turned fully onto his side, waiting for her to move next to him.

She stared at the ceiling. "The thing is…I do want to. But it feels wrong to want…sex now."

Pulling her close again, Charles whispered in her ear. "If you want it, then there is nothing wrong with it." He kissed her slowly, feeling the contours of her mouth against his. He smiled when she hummed. "Today has been a sad day," he acknowledge, "but it doesn't change the fact that you and I, we-we are alive." Giving her one last kiss, he abruptly moved backwards away from her. She lay still for a full minute, then reached for him.

"Charlie?" Her sultry voice made him shiver.

"Hmmm?"

Elsie slid her hand from his shoulder up to his face, her thumb parting his lips. "Make love to me."

They moved together slowly, savoring each other. There was no rush. When he entered her waiting warmth, she hooked her legs around his, drawing him deeper. He breathed her name as they kissed. Every touch, every thrust, brought them closer. He came first, pouring into her. Licking her nipples into hardened peaks, he teased her into her own release. She cried out and then cried in his arms. He kissed her repeatedly, reassuring her of his presence.

Grief cast its shadow, but they were gloriously alive.