A/N: Well, here we go again. Thank you so much for reviews and reblogs, both here and on tumblr! Silhouettedswallow - hats off to you! Beta comments keep me entertained and educated, and it's like having my own Alistair Bruce. :)

I wanted to address something one reviewer said, about how quickly Charles is progressing for an amnesia patient. I have NO medical background, and my only experience with amnesia is from a relative who suffered from it after being in a medically-induced coma while suffering from encephalitis. Her memory came back quite rapidly over the few days after she was brought around again, and it was quite a jumble for a bit. There are still bits that won't ever come back, and there are a few lingering things. I'm kind of making it up as I go, so hopefully that's okay. It's kind of an AU rabbit hole we've descended into, isn't it? :)

Spotify - ChelsieSouloftheAbbey Chelsie Potpourri - "Pictures of You"

xx - Enjoy!

CSotA

Remembering you

how you used to be ...

If only I'd thought of the right words,

I could have held on to your heart.

Elsie took one last look at the staff who were lined up quite formally to welcome Mr. Carson back to Downton. Her girls, his men … (sigh) She suspected that this type of welcome would only make Mr. Carson uncomfortable, and she knew that Mr. Barrow was positively seething at the idea of standing at attention as though they were awaiting a Duke, but Lord and Lady Grantham would hear no protestations. And given that they'd paid the entire bill for Mr. Carson's hospital stay and recovery, in addition to the extra pay they'd given Anna and Thomas for assuming the housekeeper and butler's duties while she and Mr. Carson had been in London, there was really no room for discussion.

Elsie had tried her best to prepare Mr. Carson in the letter she'd asked Lady Grantham to deliver, tried to explain that he'd have to endure dozens of eyes upon him when he alighted from that car, and she tried to reassure him that it would only be this once. But it won't, she reminded herself. You lied to the man, Elsie, because it'll also be every time we're sat at the servants' table, and every time he's stood in the library or the drawing room with whisky or tea to serve. They'll be watching him now, always.

The sound of motors shook Elsie from her reverie, and she cleared her throat loudly to get Madge's attention after catching the girl fiddling with the frill on her cuff. Madge took note and resumed an air of steady attentiveness. Elsie reminded herself once again that Madge was young, and flighty, but that she was an excellent maid to Lady Edith. Actually, thought Elsie, we're quite lucky that it's been Madge attending Lady Edith … any other maid would have paid more attention these last few months.

The car door opened and Downton's butler stepped out slowly. Elsie looked with pride at how well he looked in his suit despite the weight he'd lost – no one but the two of them knew that she'd been up all night two evenings ago taking it in for him. She'd finished it up just in time to send it along with the Granthams when they returned to collect Mr. Carson from the hospital. Appearance was everything to Mr. Carson and, despite reassurances from the family that he'd be given every lenience there was upon his return, Elsie simply couldn't abide him returning home and looking as though he didn't fit the part of 'butler.' She just couldn't allow it, because it would make him miserable and that, in turn, would make them all miserable … particularly Elsie.

"Welcome back, Mr. Carson," sounded Mr. Barrow's voice. "It's wonderful to see you looking so well."

"Thank you," Charles answered with a nod. "It is good to be back." He walked over to the staff and faced the under butler. "Thank you for managing my duties while I've been ill, Mr. Barrow. I appreciate that very much."

So far, so good, Elsie thought. Just then, however, Charles turned to face her. He gave her the slightest nod and – no, it couldn't be – a wink?

Oh, good heavens … this is going to be more difficult that I thought.

Elsie turned and led her girls toward the servants' entrance, putting some much-needed distance between herself and the butler, who now appeared to be conversing with Mr. Bates. Good, that's good … Mr. Bates understands injury and trauma from his time in the war. He'll be patient, and he never says too much anyhow. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves, and then began directing footmen to carry Mr. Carson's now beat-up trunk up to his room. She wondered where on earth Mr. Barrow had disappeared to, why it was she who was still ordering the footmen around, but saw him chatting with His Lordship.

Elsie had given Mrs. Patmore very strict instructions to wish Mr. Carson a quiet 'welcome home' and then to leave the man in peace. Lady Mary had returned yesterday with Mr. Carson's things, and Elsie had replaced them exactly where they belonged only this morning. She'd had his pantry cleaned regularly while Mr. Barrow had been occupying it, but since the man had insisted upon using the room until after eleven the night before, she'd had precious little time to ensure that it would be up to Mr. Carson's standards. She'd managed, though, wondering briefly as she'd been polishing the desk if Mr. Carson even cared about the tidiness of his pantry anymore. Surely he does, she told herself.

But the fact was, Mr. Carson was … different now. Elsie couldn't put her finger on it, but from the moment he'd greeted her with such overt affection at the hospital, she'd spotted it. He was more open, somehow; less buttoned-up, perhaps. Even Lady Mary had mentioned it.

"I don't know how to put it, Mrs. Hughes, but he's different. He was more familiar with His Lordship – not that anyone in the family would begrudge his lack of formality while the poor man is laid up in hospital, of course." Lady Mary had appeared confused, and Elsie was concerned. The young woman was a shrewd observer when she wanted to be (when Lady Edith was not involved, anyhow) and the fact that she had picked up on this change in Mr. Carson's demeanor meant that he – and, by association, Elsie – needed to be very, very careful in the near future, at least in front of the family. As she reflected on all of this she headed toward the butler's pantry, already recalculating how she was going to handle him these next few days.

Handle him. Well, Elsie mused, some things DON'T change.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"And the staff dinner will be at …?" Elsie prompted.

"Six," Charles answered quickly. "After which the gong is rung – by me – promptly at seven, with the family dinner being served at eight."

"Very good," she replied, nodding curtly. "And at that point you'll be doing …?"

He sighed. "Absolutely nothing, because the Dowager is dining here this evening and the dinner service will be quite formal." He almost pouted as he added, "And standards must be maintained, which means I shouldn't 'chance it' as you so eloquently put it to me earlier."

"Quite right," Elsie agreed. "But you are willing to serve the after-dinner brandy for His Lordship and …?"

"Mr. Branson," he supplied. "Elsie, I remember who they are. Well … upstairs, anyhow. Finally."

Elise tilted her head and smiled fondly at him, knowing how immensely happy he'd been once all his memories of Lady Mary had come flooding back. Finally, indeed. She had found that she couldn't begrudge the tender relationship that he and Lady Mary shared, not now, because the joy on his face as he shared his remembrances with Elsie had warmed her heart. "Yes, you do."

"But suppertime is approaching, and I'm still not sure …" he trailed off.

"I'll walk in with you. Everyone will stand and, likely, welcome you back, and you'll wave for them to sit. Then we'll chat as usual, and you won't have too much to worry about. Who do you remember of the staff?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Bates – Anna, I know that … and Mr. Barrow."

"Alright then, that's fine for now. Mr. Molesley is away this evening as today was his half day, and Miss Baxter, Madge and Andy most likely won't address you directly if you're engaged in conversation with me."

"Good, because I can't quite recall who they are," he laughed. "Oh, this is truly more overwhelming than I'd expected." He thought for a minute, brow furrowed. "What happened to Miss O'Brien?" he asked.

Elsie's laughter echoed throughout the room. "Oh, Mr. Carson, have no fear – she left for India with Lady Rose's mother. Don't you remem- oh, my goodness, of course you don't. Pardon me, I don't know what I was thinking," she said, blushing suddenly and twisting her hands in her lap.

It was Charles's turn to laugh. "Have no fear, Elsie – I didn't remember, but you've not offended me. I truly must thank you, for everything you're doing to help me."

"Mr. Carson," she began, but he cut her off.

"Elsie, when we're together – alone – why won't you call me Charlie?" He looked completely confused, and she shook her head.

"Ach, Mr. Carson … I've not called you that in many, many years, you daft man, and most certainly not here! And you mustn't call me Elsie. At least, not here. It needs to be Mrs. Hughes, as you rather harshly informed me quite a few years ago … well, you'll remember all of that eventually, I think."

He looked deep into her eyes then, more suspicious than ever that his memories were tricking him into believing a great many things that weren't, well, accurate.

"Perhaps, Mrs. Hughes," he murmured softly, reaching for her hand, "I don't wish to remember."