A/N: Thanks to silhouettedswallow for awesome beta work; because of her, word order resembles something an actual adult wrote.

We are out of "Say Something" territory, as Carson has, in fact, been saying things – and (*Spoiler Alert!*) shall say more by the end of this set of chapters.

Song inspiration for these next few chapters is an oldie but goodie – "Pictures of You," by The Cure, and it's on my Spotify Chelsie Potpourri list.

Enjoy! xx

There was nothing in the world

That I ever wanted more

Than to never feel the breaking apart

Of my pictures of you …

Mary returned to the hospital just before eight. She'd had every intention of just sending a driver, but then she wondered if they'd allow him in to retrieve Mrs. Hughes should he arrive later than planned for some reason. She knew that was just an excuse because, deep down, she was so hoping to see Carson up and talking animatedly with the family's housekeeper, or at least awake enough to be saying something to her. Hell, even awake and looking like he knew what in creation was going on would be fantastic.

But what she found was not what she expected, and it almost tore her heart in two - something odd, to be sure, but something which, at the same time, didn't surprise her at all; in a way, she'd always known – for there, laying sideways across part of Carson's bed, was Mrs. Hughes, her hand grasped firmly within his own.

Mary found herself both happy and intimidated by this little turn of events. Not HER holding HIS hand, but with her hand grasped in his. Did he wake, talk to her, REMEMBER her, and take her hand? Knowing that she hadn't really been what Carson thought of as a 'daughter' was bad enough, but seeing that this woman was who he wanted by his side during his time of great distress was something else entirely. Of course, Mary harbored no inappropriate feelings toward the man, goodness no … but this was incontrovertible proof that she wasn't the only one allowed inside of his heart, either. Evidently, Carson had more space in there than she had realized, more room in which to accommodate others who lived at Downton. She found the information … unsettling, perhaps.

She approached the bed and reached out to the housekeeper, tapping her on the shoulder as she gently called her name. "Mrs. Hughes? Mrs. Hughes, please wake up – it's time to return to the house for the evening."

Elsie opened her eyes halfway, being pulled from a wonderful, lovely dream. "Lady Mary?" she asked, completely unsure of just where she was at the moment, just knowing that it wasn't where she'd been in her dreams. "Why are you here?"

Why, indeed, Mary thought with a smirk. But one look at the housekeeper's face, at the tear that was trailing down from the lashes, wiped all traces of amusement from Mary's expression. "Mrs. Hughes," she said quietly, "I've come to take you back to Grantham House. We've dinner waiting, after which I think you could use a good night's sleep in … a more comfortable bed, perhaps?"

As Elsie finally realized where she was, she sat up abruptly and ripped her hand from Charles's own, sparing a moment to regret the slight chill that her fingers now felt. Her heart wrenched as he groaned, thrashed a bit in his sleep, and clamped his fingers together a couple of times, as if searching for the item that was now missing from their grasp. Bits of the odd dream she'd been having came flooding back, and she was happy to see him settle again almost instantly.

"Of course, Milady. I am sorry you had to find me like this. It was most … unexpected."

She stood up and saw a flash of something white by her hip; looking down, she saw it was a handkerchief, proffered by Lady Mary in a wordless show of sympathy. The gesture confused Elsie for a moment, until she felt a tear trickle down her cheek and realized she'd been weeping in her sleep.

"Thank you, Milady," she said, reaching for the handkerchief. Well, this is rather embarrassing. She looked up and was comforted by the uncharacteristic kindness in the younger woman's eyes. Kindness, yes … and … understanding, perhaps. It took Elsie by surprise, but she had neither the time nor the energy to dwell on it.

"Let's go home," Mary whispered, "and you can come back again tomorrow. I assume he woke, that you've spoken?"

Elsie's brow furrowed in confusion as her lip disappeared underneath her teeth. She struggled to remember what the true answer to that was, given her still-groggy state and the dream/reality confusion that still lingered.

She shook her head slowly. "No, I don't believe he did, but perhaps tomorrow."

"Yes, perhaps," the young Lady said sadly.

Then why on earth was he holding her hand?

oOoOoOoOoOo

The car pulled up alongside Grantham House just as the sun had set. Elsie realized she'd never seen the house at night from this angle before, surrounded in near-darkness with its windows full of soft lights beckoning them to enter. She exited the car and nodded at Lady Mary, then turned to make her way to the servants' entrance.

"Oh, please, Mrs. Hughes – just come on in through the front door. We're the only two here save for the cook, one housemaid, and one footman, so there's no need to stand on ceremony."

Elsie didn't have the energy to argue with the woman even if she'd wanted to – which she didn't. "If you insist, Milady." Let's not tell Mr. Carson about THIS bit, either, she thought, chuckling to herself.

"Another thing we can add to the 'things not to tell Carson' list, hm?" Mary asked.

"My thoughts exactly, Milady."

"Dinner will be served at nine – please do join me in the dining room."

Bloody hell.

"I'd be happy to do so, Milady," came Elsie's reply – really the only one she could give under the circumstances. She was here to be of assistance, to give what help she could in fixing this awful situation with Mr. Carson. She certainly didn't have any other duties the entire time she was to be at Grantham House, duties that could be an excuse for escape. There was no possible way she could turn down the invitation and, more importantly than everything else, she did need to eat.

Elsie headed up to her quarters. Presumably, her bag had been brought up to her room earlier, and if she was to dine with Lady Mary she'd best change into her evening dress. She took a moment to glance at her disheveled appearance in the looking glass: hair slightly slipping from its bun, a few wrinkles to the blouse from when she'd fallen asleep …

Oh, God … I fell asleep on his bed. Well, then …

As she undressed, Elsie began playing the footage of the dream back in her mind, examining it, looking for things that might be significant. As with all of her dreams, it was filled with cloudy, slowly-moving scenes that, upon waking, turned into faster-moving, less-detailed images. Sometimes, in the safety of her own room at Downton (to which she conveniently held the only key), she'd catalog particular sorts of dreams – like the one from which she'd recently woken, a dream full of wonder, haze, and him – in an old journal that was locked away in her small writing desk, getting them down before the images were lost forever over the course of the hours that would follow her waking. But she did not have that luxury this time around, and simply could not take the risk of committing this particular set of images to paper.

Oh, Lady Mary … why must you insist that I join you tonight? There was nothing to be done about it, but the last thing Elsie wanted or needed was to sit across from Lady Mary, being grilled on all of the things that had happened at the hospital, all of the things that Elsie had noticed and said and done that she didn't want to discuss at all. As she fastened the remainder of her buttons, and then pinned her hair in a more housekeeper-like, tight bun, she allowed her brain to select the particular items that she would allow Lady Mary to hear. There weren't many, but if they kept the woman at bay for the next couple of days they'd be good enough.

Elsie took one last look in the mirror, gave herself a sharp nod of confidence, and headed toward the door before stopping suddenly and turning to grab a handkerchief of her own. Just in case. You've got it all sorted out, Els, but that woman is unpredictable at best. She tucked the worn square of fabric into the pocket of her dress and made her way down to the family dining area, where, with any luck, Lady Mary would not yet be waiting.

Please drop me a line and let me know what you thought! Then, forge on ahead to Chapter 7!