A/N: Song choice for this one is "Kathy's Song" because, well, it's raining ... and, you know, sweetness. It's on my "Chelsie Potpourri" Spotify playlist. Simon and Garfunkel – doesn't get much better than that.

Thanks to silhouettedswallow who continues to find time in her busy life for my little fic. Xx

CSotA

I hear the drizzle of the rain,

Like a memory it falls

Soft and warm, continuing,

Tapping on my roof and walls.

And as I watch the drops of rain

Weave their weary paths and die,

I know that I am like the rain

There but for the grace of you go I.

"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."

Elsie looked up sharply, ripping her hand from his grasp. She bolted from her seat as though his touch had burned her skin, and fled to the other side of the room.

"Mr. Carson," she implored, "you must understand that there are rules we need to uphold! Surely you, of all people, respect that? This type of … familiarity … it's just not allowed."

Charles was utterly confused. "But … forgive me, Mrs. Hughes," he began, the name suddenly stinging her despite her insistence at its usage, "but are we not … well, closer than most? You'll have to excuse me if I've been too familiar, or improper, but …" he shrugged, clearly frustrated at being unable to express himself clearly. "Wait, give me a moment."

"Mr. Carson," she sighed, "whatever you are trying to say should perhaps wait for another day."

He looked at her then, a look of sadness in his eyes that she'd rarely seen in all the years she'd known him. "But I remember ... at least, I think I do. It's just that there are gaps, spaces where I cannot put it all together. Dr. Clarkson was helping me with that, but now he seems to have gone off the idea. Perhaps he thinks it's for the best."

Or perhaps I asked him to stop, Elsie thought. Which would never occur to you, you dear, sweet man. Oh, what a situation THIS is turning out to be.

Elsie sighed heavily, knowing how upset he was (and remembering the ever-present fear of causing undue stress to his heart), and figured she could alleviate a bit of his concern. "Perhaps you're pushing yourself too hard, Mr. Carson. It's only been a few days, and I know how anxious you are to return to your normal routine. Perhaps you should give your full attention to the house for the next couple of days. Then, once you're fully back on your feet, we can see about connecting some more memories, see if we can make more sense of it all, alright?"

He nodded slowly, avoiding her eyes. "Yes, perhaps that would be best," he said, rising from his seat. "And now, dinner?"

Elsie nodded, opening the door and exiting the room, with his solid presence behind her just as it always had been. As they entered the servants' hall the sound of scraping chairs echoed off the walls, but Mr. Carson waved his hand and indicated for them to be seated. Elsie smiled at the gesture, which seemed completely unchanged from the thousands of other times he'd given it. Looking at his face, she sensed the calm return, and knew he was back in his element … at least for now.

"I wish to thank you all for your kind words and for the support you've given, not only to myself but to Mr. Barrow, Mrs. Bates, and Mrs. Hughes. His Lordship informs me that things have been handled with the utmost care, which means a great deal to me. Now please, enjoy your dinner." With that, he and Elsie sat.

She shot him a sideways glance and the smallest of nods, which he returned immediately. As the dishes of food came around, he filled both his plate and hers as though he'd never left: her favorite cut of the meat, the more darkly-roasted potatoes, and a complete absence of the turnips as he knew she loathed the things. She thanked him quietly, and the rest of the meal passed in relative silence – a blessing for which she was grateful. They made small talk about an upcoming party, and she told him that the wine delivery would be arriving the next morning, as scheduled.

As the meal ended, Elsie stood and returned to her sitting room. She had a few accounts to go over before the evening was out, so she was slightly dismayed to hear Mr. Carson's footsteps following her. He knocked on her door, waiting until she called for him to enter.

"Mrs. Hughes, I can see you are busy, but I just wanted to thank you for your help earlier. I didn't wish to do so in front of the other staff, but … well, regardless of my strange circumstances, you've been a constant source of security for me, and I truly appreciate your help today. I do hope that you are willing to continue assisting me in my transition back, regardless of any unintended impropriety on my part."

She looked up at him, her heart virtually melting at the pleading look on his face. "Yes," she said softly, "you've nothing to worry about on that score. Just be mindful, Mr. Carson," she added, motioning with her eyes to the grate in her wall, "even the walls have ears sometimes."

He smiled broadly, remembering, and nodded.

"Now, go ring the gong."

He left, and as Elsie heard him shut the door lightly behind her she heaved a deep sigh of relief.

Day One – almost complete. She cracked open her ledger, pulled the chain for her desk lamp, and began the tedious task of making sense of the week's accounts. Anna hadn't been assigned that particular task, and it was unlike Elsie to be behind. She shook her head and braced herself for a long evening.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Charles woke to a dark room and lay still for a moment, listening to the furious pounding of the rain on his window. His mind was hazy, grasping at pictures, things that he wasn't sure about … was it a dream? Are they memories? He'd been asking himself the same thing for days now, every time he woke. He was getting better at sorting them, but some were still impossible to identify one way or the other.

He reached for his pocket watch, using the faint glow from the fireplace to read its face. Half two … sigh. He knew it would be quite a while before anyone else would be up, but he also knew that there would be no more sleep for him tonight. He sat up in bed and rubbed his hands over his face, ran his fingers through his hair, and swung his legs out from underneath the covers. He rose slowly, knowing now from the past week's experience that getting up too quickly might make him dizzy. He allowed his eyes to get accustomed to the soft light from the fire before walking to retrieve his dressing robe, slippers, and a lamp. He lit the wick and proceeded downstairs to the kitchen, feeling that a hot cup of tea would do wonders to clear his mind.

As he descended the stairs, he heard soft voices coming from the kitchen.

"Daisy, why are you up, girl? Go back to bed!" came Elsie's voice.

"I will, Mrs. Hughes, honestly. I woke up suddenly and realized I'd left my book behind," the young woman said with a yawn. "I'm heading back up now. The stove should be hot enough for tea, if you need."

Elsie nodded. Daisy was quite familiar with Elsie's habit of rising in the middle of the night when storms passed through, and would kindly leave the kettle on the hob for her in the likely event that she wanted a cup of tea. "Thank you, Daisy."

Daisy headed back upstairs, almost walking face-first into Mr. Carson as he rounded the corner.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Carson!" she squeaked, scurrying back up the stairs.

"That's quite alright …" he started to say, but before he could even utter a sound she was already gone.

Charles continued to the kitchen. Elsie had evidently not heard his interaction with Daisy over the clatter of her teacup, spoon, saucer and tray. He stood just inside the doorway, watching her, Elsie completely oblivious to his presence. It was an odd occurrence for them, though its significance escaped Charles.

He watched her with a reverent gaze as she filled a small teapot with tea and then peeked into the large kettle. She seemed frustrated, shifting from one foot to the other as she waited for the water to boil, and he smiled softly at the sight of her plaited hair hanging down the center of her back, at the wisps that had escaped it and now curled the nape of her neck. He saw her fiddling with a teaspoon that she held in her right hand, flicking it back and forth in her impatience. It struck him then that the entire scene was odd, that he'd never seen her so antsy before. And then it occurred to him that perhaps he couldn't be sure of that – except that he was.

He backed out of the kitchen door silently, then cleared his throat out in the hall, giving her a moment to realize he was there but not be startled.

He came through the door again as she was turning to face him. "Mr. Carson," she said softly, "whatever are you doing up at this time of night?"

"I'm not sure. Couldn't sleep, but I'm not sure why really. Usually I sleep quite soundly when it rains."

Elsie motioned her head forward, indicating his chest. "Are they sore? Your ribs, I mean. The rain … well, it bothers my leg sometimes."

"Yes, I know," he replied, and she smirked at him.

"Of course you do – I'd forgotten." And they both laughed as the irony of her statement struck them. "Would you care to join me for a cuppa?"

"I would, if it's not a bother."

Elsie shook her head slowly. "No, Mr. Carson, it's fine." She turned to gather another cup and saucer as he added more tea to the pot and poured the now-boiling water in before returning the kettle to the stove. He made to lift the tray as well, but she scolded him before he could touch it.

"It's bad enough that you've just lifted that kettle, Mr. Carson – don't you dare touch that tray." She picked it up and motioned with her head for him to move out of the doorway. It irked him to obey, to not allow her to go first, but he was actually in her way as they stood. He moved to the servants' table, pulling out her seat for her as she set the tray down.

They sat in silence as she prepared both cups of tea, just as she had been doing for years. Charles watched her hands – strong yet delicate hands, he thought – as they poured and stirred and set a cup and saucer in front of him.

"Thank you," he murmured. Then, remembering their earlier conversation, he ventured a question. "The rain makes your hip hurt too, doesn't it?"

Elsie chuckled, taking a tiny sip of her tea, relishing the heat it would bring to her aching body. "Oh, yes … for quite a few years now, Mr. Carson. It's the price we pay for getting older, working the hours that we do, going up and down millions of stairs, I suppose."

He hummed an answer, seemingly pondering some great thought. Elsie didn't want to poke and prod – she did enough of that as she tried to coax his mind through the day. Instead, she got up from the table suddenly and made her way back to the kitchen. "I'll just be a moment," she told him.

Charles looked up as she returned with a plate. "You look as if you could use this, Mr. Carson."

He smiled as he saw a rather generous slice of his favorite apple tart on the plate. "But you've not brought yourself anything?"

"Ah," she replied with a smile, "but I have." She held up her other hand, in which she was grasping two forks.

His laughter carried down the corridor before he remembered it was the middle of the night, Elsie shushing him with a twinkle in her eye.

"I love these quiet moments when the house is asleep, Mr. Carson, so don't you dare wake them all up!"

She held out a fork to him, and he managed to brush his fingers across her wrist as he took it from her. To Elsie's ears, the soft gasp that escaped her mouth sounded as though it echoed across the room.

"Elsie …" He looked at her again, trying to convey with his eyes what he now dared not say aloud.

"Don't … please, Mr. Carson, not now," she begged. "Let's not have this conversation now."

"Just tell me one thing," he pleaded, "and then I won't bring it up again."

She rolled her eyes, realizing there would be no escaping it once it had begun. "One thing, and that's all for tonight."

Charles saw her gather her lip under her teeth again, but he was comforted that she was, at least, looking him in the eye.

"It isn't something I'm making up, is it? There is something there … here, between us … or, rather, there was. I've an awful feeling that I'm to blame for the fact that it's no longer there …"

She was silent for a moment, and then nodded very slowly. "Aye, Mr. Carson ... there was. But it was so very long ago, and you alone are not to blame." She almost stopped there, but felt she owed him a bit more. "There is one more piece you haven't placed yet, but it's best that you manage that on your own without any help from me."

She picked up her fork then, attacking the back of the tart slice as she knew he preferred the pointed end, where there was less crust to, as he always said, 'interfere with the flavor of the apples.' He saw a small smile come to her lips and he returned it in kind, knowing that, once again, she was caring for him in all the small ways that she could.

I liked this one, and hope you did as well. Drop me a note or review and share your thoughts, if you please.