ANSWERS! Well, one BIG answer, if you pay attention. Be sure you've read Chapter 14, which posted only yesterday.

Song Choice - "I Loved You Once in Silence," from Camelot. Thanks to the person who threw that on my Chelsie Playlist post on tumblr a while back - I can't remember who it was, but I LOVE IT. It applies for this chapter as well as the next. I never put the entire set of lyrics up, but screw it - they apply. It's on my "Chelsie Potpourri" playlist on Spotify.

Thanks to silhouettedswallow who beta'd about 3/4 of this, before I added more to the story and, undoubtedly, it's now longer than it was when I sent it to her. :)

xx Reviews and reblogs always welcome - thanks!

CSotA

I loved you once in silence
And misery was all I knew.
Trying so to keep my love from showing,
All the while not knowing you loved me too.

Yes, loved me in lonesome silence;
Your heart filled with dark despair.
Thinking love would flame in you forever,
And I'd never, never know the flame was there.

Then one day we cast away our secret longing;
The raging tide we held inside would hold no more.
The silence at last was broken!
We flung wide our prison door.

Every joyous word of love was spoken.

And now there's twice as much grief,
Twice the strain for us;
Twice the despair,
Twice the pain for us
As we had known before.

The silence at last was broken!
We flung wide our prison door.

Every joyous word of love was spoken.

And after all had been said,
Here we are, my love,
Silent once more,
And not far, my love,
From where we were before.

Previously …

With a deep breath she removed the paper that it contained and unfolded it. On it were written very few words, but their impact caused Elsie to plop unceremoniously in her chair, grateful for the fact that it was there so that she didn't end up on the floor.

Elsie ~

I think we need to speak. About the flowers ... and everything else.

~ Charlie

oOoOoOoOoOo

The note crinkled in Elsie's pocket as she made her way down the hall. She imagined she could feel it through the dress, as if it were burning her skin through the fabric in an attempt to ensure that she'd not forgotten about it. As if I could forget.

Elsie knocked gently on his door, and heard a hearty "Come in!" before opening it.

"Mr. Carson?" She entered the room and then shut the door tightly. "I think you're right," she murmured, her back to him, "we need to talk."

He moved out from behind his desk and approached her slowly, noting how intently she was focused on the doorknob, how stiff her bearing was in her refusal to face him. He took enough steps to end up directly behind her yet still give her space to move if she so desired.

"Yes," he answered, "we do."

Elsie knew she couldn't quite face him if she was to maintain any sense of composure. It was earlier than their usual meeting time; maids were still flitting about and it would be at least another hour before Charles locked up and made his final rounds. That was why she'd shown up at his door now, because in order to complete their evening work they'd have to maintain an air of appropriate distance and emotional detachment.

"The flowers were lovely," she uttered unexpectedly. "I can't believe you remembered. Wherever did you find them?"

He said nothing, simply reached out to ghost his fingertips over her shoulder blade, an act so intimate that she nearly jumped out of her skin, yet so comforting and welcome that she was able to remain perfectly calm.

"Charlie …" she sighed, and he pulled his hand away.

"Won't you come and sit?" he invited. "Perhaps have a small sherry, early though it might be?"

Elsie nodded. "I think I shall, thank you."

He poured as she took her customary seat, and he handed her a glass. Their fingers touched and lingered for a moment before he withdrew.

"I need to know what you remember," she said bluntly. "I've no idea."

He sat heavily, pursing his lips as he spun the diminutive glass in his large fingers, looking very much the magician he'd acted on the stage all those years ago, making the glass disappear and reappear before her eyes without spilling a drop. Finally his fingers stilled, and he sipped at the sweet, amber liquid, trying to compose his thoughts.

"I remember the day we met," he began, and then he smiled. "The bakery – do you?"

"Aye, Charlie, how could I forget? That meeting cost you two good loaves of bread. The baker's wife was none too pleased, as I recall." She niggled at her lip, looking at him through her lashes. "What else?" she whispered, barely audible even in the closed room.

"I think I remember everything, Elsie. The entire Season … the picnic … bringing you to the clearing, the scent of the flowers ..." He reached over and took her hand, waiting until she looked up at him. "It was, without a doubt, the best summer of my life."

"But you regretted it." She looked away again, couldn't bear to see the disappointment that would certainly appear in his eyes.

"No."

Elsie barked out a laugh. "Certainly you don't expect me to believe that."

"I remember, Elsie. There was … my God, we had a child. A daughter. I was right about that, only I was confused in hospital. I remember now, quite clearly. You went to Scotland ... home, until she was born …"

She nodded. "That I did – at your suggestion."

"But you didn't leave her there, did you? I think I've got a grasp on it, but some of the details escape me."

"Margaret," she breathed. "I named her for my mother, sent her to live with a neighbor's family. I had to return to work, had to earn so that I could support …" She almost said them all, but checked herself at the last second.

"And then you came here," he completed.

"And then I came here," she agreed. "And …? Is there anything else, Charlie?"

He struggled with that, closed his eyes and subconsciously tightened his grip on her hand as he tried to pull the long-ago memory from the recesses of his mind. Suddenly, his eyes flew open. "She went somewhere else – she didn't stay with them."

She nodded slowly. "Yes. And that's … it?" she questioned him. She was pushing, prodding perhaps too hard, but she had to know what he knew.

Another pause, another furrow of the brow, and then Elsie could see the truth dawn as the scales fell from his eyes at last. A breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escaped her lips in a whispered rush.

"Sh- She's here," he stammered. "She went to another family, and then you brought her here. Oh, my God … I remember."

And, with that, Elsie lay her glass down on the side table, looked down toward her lap, and burst into silent tears.

"Elsie," he whispered, moving his chair directly next to hers so that he could wrap his arm around her. He pulled her into his side and whispered to her, words of calm and reassurance.

"There's nothing to fear, Elsie … shh … no one knows." Only then he wasn't quite sure of that, and had to ask. "She has no idea, does she?"

Elsie shook her head violently. "No," she said, suddenly seeing that he was holding a handkerchief out to her. She took it and wiped at her face, then unceremoniously blew her nose. "No, she has no idea – no one does, thank God. We'd all be out on the street!"

Charles wasn't so sure about that, but held his tongue.

Elsie got up and started pacing the room, well aware that at any time someone could come knocking on the door. She had to pull herself together, needed a moment to gather herself. Charles knew this, of course, and let her be until she regained her characteristic control.

"I have to ask, Charlie. Why did you write and invite me to apply for the head housekeeper position?" she asked, her voice level rising dangerously. "Why on earth did you invite me to work here, only to act from the moment I arrived like you wished I'd never existed?" Elsie was shouting now, but she couldn't manage to get control of her words. "Did you have no idea that I still felt the same as I had before, the same way toward you?"

She stopped speaking for a moment, stared at him with that icy fire in her eyes that he only ever saw when she was most enraged, and then continued in a furious whisper. "Did you ever even think of how hard it was, Charlie, that it ripped my heart out to leave her behind – to leave our daughter behind – with near strangers? And then to come here, to work with you, to see you every day and know that you wished she didn't exist, watching you act as though we'd never even met!"

Charles looked crestfallen. "I don't think I can answer that in the way you need me to," he replied. "I think that, deep down, I knew that I would rather have you alongside me, working as my partner in this innocent and acceptable way, than not have you in my life at all." A tear slid down his cheek, but Elsie had taken to pacing again and didn't see it. "I missed you," he said weakly.

Finally, after what seemed like ages to Charles, Elsie's furious pacing came to a sudden stop. "And now what?" she demanded. "What do you want, Charlie? All these years you wanted nothing to do with me, nothing to do with any of it. But then you changed …"

"Yes, when you were ill, when you thought ... Oh, Elsie … I realized I couldn't bear to lose you again," he admitted.

She sighed furiously then, almost a growl. "No, not that. I mean you've changed recently, that how you are now is changed. I have been trying for years to find some aspect of you that would acknowledge the importance of what we shared, and once I understood that you didn't want to admit any of it, I decided to try and craft something new, something different. I needed that – for me."

She paused, suddenly unsure of how to express what she felt. "And then, at the beach … I thought we were making progress. Finally, after all these years, we seemed to be finding a way together again.

"But then that awful accident occurred, and now you're different again. Not 'Mr. Carson,' but some combination of him and my Charlie, and I have no idea what to do with it … what to do with you. So I ask again: what do you want from me? What do you want for us?"

"I've been a fool, and I'll not deny it," he said. "I maintain my original stance that we couldn't have both left our positions, but I wish we had married – even secretly, if that would have been best – and I could have tried to work out … something …" He threw his hands in the air and waved them in front of his chest, a characteristic sign of his unease. "I don't know," he admitted, "even now as I speak I don't see how it could have worked."

"No, it couldn't have worked," Elsie agreed, her voice exhausted from the emotional drain, "and for that I will be eternally sorry."

She took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking again, noticing how Charles wasn't looking at her at all but staring off at some distant spot in the room. "I do believe that being by your side all this time has been better than not being with you at all – I came to that conclusion years ago. And, despite how I felt when I first arrived, I am grateful to you for encouraging me to come to Downton. But I often felt … well, you asked me to be here, but I just don't think you wanted me to be … at least, not at first."

Charles looked up at her then, and Elsie could see the guilt radiating from his face. "I was so afraid of the family finding out. I had been hiding the 'Cheerful Charlies' from His Lordship for so long, and that must seem to you to be so trivial in comparison, I know … but I wasn't prepared to deal with this. But it is true that I told you about the position because I missed you, and also because I knew it would be a wonderful opportunity for you, working in a house as grand as Downton."

He looked down at the floor, ashamed, and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "And I wanted you to be proud of me, I think. Wanted you to see how well the Abbey was run, how accomplished I'd become in my career. I've always cared for you, Elsie, don't ever doubt that ... that didn't stop just because of what had happened. But I was successful here, and I wanted that for you." He looked up then, smirking at her. "I suppose I knew deep down that we'd still make a formidable team, and that you'd be quite an asset to the house … to me."

"Well, it was big of you to make that decision, but perhaps you could have given me the details before I accepted Her Ladyship's offer," she spat furiously, "instead of putting me through a living hell when I arrived!"

Charles reacted as if he'd been slapped. He said nothing, but his eyes filled with tears once again – this time not unnoticed by Elsie.

"Ach, Charlie," she sighed, shaking her head as she sat back down next to him. "That was rather cruel of me. I apologize."

"I deserved it," he responded, wiping brusquely at his eyes. "There could have been a great deal that I'd done differently. I had no concept of the pain you were suffering. Wait, no … that's untrue. I did realize it, and ignored it, which is immeasurably worse. I put my career and this family ahead of what should have been my own family," he admitted, "and I am ashamed of myself for it and deeply sorry for the hurt I've caused you."

Elsie reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Well, you've made some progress in that regard, you know. I feel like you've been allowing more of your true self to show through these past few years. At first I thought I was imagining it, but once we lost Mr. Crawley …"

"Yes," he whispered. "So much loss, so much sadness and loss of ... love." He reached across his chest to place his hand atop hers. "I didn't want us to end that way."

"No, nor did I. So now where do we go?" she asked.

"Now," he said, "perhaps we can find a new way." A pause, then, "Perhaps she should know."

Elsie shook her head slowly. "You know," she said quietly, "she's not our daughter anymore. Truth be told, I may have given birth to her but I don't feel that she has ever been our daughter beyond that. We can watch out for her, do watch out for her, in our own way … but we're not her parents. We gave that right up long ago."

"I'm not so sure," he answered slowly. "Aren't they all our children? I've always thought of them as such."

Elsie chewed thoughtfully on her lip. "So have I, I suppose. They do come to us needing something: caring, a firm hand, direction. But she has opportunities now, the promise of a better life, and people who have loved her like actual parents for a good deal of time. I find that I am grateful for that - for the fact that she's found people that will love her unconditionally." And then a memory came to her. "And you did get to be a proper father to her, the one time she truly needed one."

The thought filled him with pride, and Elsie saw him actually sit a bit taller and nod slightly. "I did."

Charles stood then and reached his hand out toward Elsie. He gently pried her lip out from underneath her teeth and, ever so slowly lest she push him away, he leaned in and softly kissed her, trying to caress the hurt out of the lip she so mercilessly bothered when she was upset.

"Perhaps," he whispered, well aware that they'd now been shut away quite a while in his pantry, "we can decide tomorrow where to go from here."

"Together?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, together. Finally."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Thomas Barrow lay in bed, completely unable to sleep, his thoughts completely taken over by the strange events of the past couple of weeks. First there had been the train accident, followed immediately by his unexpected advancement into the position of butler; he'd managed rather well with that, given that Mrs. Hughes had also been away and he'd had to work alongside of Anna. Thomas certainly wasn't a fan of Mr. Bates, but he had to admit that working with Mrs. Bates had gone much more smoothly than he'd anticipated. But, by far, the most significant changes over these past days had been the ones regarding Mr. Carson, who was not quite the same man who'd left Grantham House at the end of the Season.

Yes, thought Thomas, the man had most definitely come back a touch different, although most below stairs seemed to agree that this was for the better. Mr. Carson had always been a strict and demanding taskmaster, expecting perfection wherever he looked. He was an excellent instructor for anyone that took the time to learn. Thomas had always fared well with the tasks; he knew his job, he was quite particular about how each task should be done, and he truly agreed with Mr. Carson that the outward appearance of the staff should be impeccable. But Thomas was no fool, either; he knew that he'd often sabotaged himself as much as others in the household with his endless scheming, and he knew that had lowered Mr. Carson's perception of him significantly. But does he remember all that now? Well, one thing was certain: Mrs. Hughes could very easily remind the old man, no question about that.

And there's the unknown … they are certainly quite familiar these days. Why is that? Of course, the heads of staff had always been a bit more at ease with one another than with most others downstairs. She could calm him when he was incensed about something minuscule; he would often come to her in her pantry with tea on particularly stressful days – hell, they had wine or sherry together almost every evening. It made sense, Thomas knew. The two of them were what made Downton run so flawlessly, the invisible filaments that kept it all tied together. And Mrs. Hughes was just as exacting as Mr. Carson – it's the reason Thomas actually (though he daren't admit it to anyone) liked the woman. She didn't accept excuses, she demanded just as much (if not more) from her maids as Mr. Carson did of the footmen, and it was how a place as grand as Downton should be run.

That was exactly why the new-found ease with which the housekeeper and butler interacted bothered him so much: it was completely unlike either of them to be quite so familiar. Their familiarity had progressed far beyond a cup of tea and a friendly chat – no, now it was glances in the hallway, broad smiles when few were paying attention, and Thomas was fairly certain it was also the reason behind the butler's distraction when surrounded by the family. The family might chalk it up to Mr. Carson still being forgetful, but Thomas knew that wasn't the case; the man might not remember everything, but he seemed to have just as firm a grasp on how to do his job as he'd always had.

So, why the change? At first Thomas thought Mrs. Hughes was babying Mr. Carson, but he soon realized that the familiarity wasn't stemming so much from Mrs. Hughes as it was from Mr. Carson – and that completely befuddled the under butler. Carson had become such a changed man that he was allowing his professional demeanor to take on more of a personal nature, and no one had seen it coming.

A sudden shout coming from down the hallway startled him from his reverie. The depth of the voice left no question in Thomas's mind that it was Mr. Carson who was yelling. God, the man must be having a nightmare! Thomas jumped from his bed and pulled on his dressing robe, tying it as he passed through the door and headed to three doors down to Mr. Carson's room.

Without hesitation, Thomas threw the door open and approached the bed. He saw the man thrashing about wildly.

"Mr. Carson," he said quietly, shaking the man's shoulder. "Mr. Carson! Wake up!"

Charles's eyes flew open, and Thomas saw an almost tortured look in his gaze. "Mr. Carson, it was only a dream."

Charles's hand emerged from the blanket and he rubbed it down his face. "A dream … oh, no … not again," he murmured.

Thomas understood immediately, his time spent on the front during the war giving him an intimate knowledge of what the man must be going through. "An awful dream, no doubt, Mr. Carson," he said softly. He moved over to the desk and poured the man a glass of water. "I have them as well, although not as frequently now as I used to."

"All those people," Charles whispered, "screaming …"

Thomas just nodded, handing him the glass of water. "Drink this – it'll help," he instructed. Charles sat up and drank the contents down slowly, and his focus on performing the action without choking or spilling did calm him a bit.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow," he said quietly. "I am sorry to have woken you."

Just then a faint knock sounded on the door, but it swung open before either man could respond. "Mr. Carson, whatever is – oh, hello Mr. Barrow." Elsie swiftly made her way past him to the bedside, examining the butler for outward signs of distress. "Mr. Carson?" she enquired.

"A bad dream, that's all," he answered. "There's no need to worry."

The sound of other footsteps in the hall made their way to Thomas's ears and he quickly headed out to intercept whoever else was heading their way. Elsie could hear his voice in the hallway, calming but assured: "It was just a bad dream, you can go back to sleep … yes, he's just fine." The under butler returned a moment later.

"Thank you," Elsie said to him, and both understood that her thanks was not only for him handling the situation but also for not revealing to anyone that she, too, had gone into Mr. Carson's bedroom in the middle of the night. Elsie wasn't sure why Mr. Barrow was being so kind, but she had an inkling – one that Mr. Barrow himself was unknowingly about to confirm.

"You're welcome." Turning, Thomas addressed the butler. "Mr. Carson, the dreams you're having are quite normal after what you've experienced. I … well, I understand. After the war …" His voice trailed off and his eyes became unfocused for a moment before he brought his thoughts back to the present. "It will get better."

Charles looked uncertain. "But Mr. Lang … it's a similar thing, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

"You're not Mr. Lang – he … well, it was different. Your experience should be easier to overcome, your memories … well," he finished abruptly, not wanting to say what was in his mind – not wishing to speak of how Mr. Carson hadn't been forced to kill or harm others. He didn't want to have to explain that the horrors that the butler had seen in his nightmares weren't as bad as what Mr. Lang had seen. He didn't want to talk about Mr. Lang at all, because those images that lived in Mr. Lang's head had been so much like what lived in Thomas's own mind, and he'd never share those with anyone else as long as he lived.

Thomas looked up at the housekeeper, who was listening intently and observing both men warily. "I leave him to your care, Mrs. Hughes," he said kindly. Elsie was startled to notice none of his usual maliciousness, and she nodded her thanks.

"You may leave the door open, Mr. Barrow. I'll be right behind you."

Thomas nodded and made his departure.

"Oh, Charlie," she whispered, approaching his bed and grasping his hand. "Will you tell me?"

He sighed, a look of terror lingering in his eyes. "Elsie, it was so horrible. I don't want you to be burdened with the details." Then, as an afterthought, "I've made you suffer so much already."

"Nonsense," she said matter-of-factly. "And no more of that. You need rest, Charlie, and perhaps, if these nightmares don't improve with time, another visit with the doctor." She reached up then, placing her cool hand on his cheek. "But don't you ever feel that you cannot confide in me, my dear man. We may be still discovering who we truly are, after all these years, but we'll do so together."

Charles turned his face and kissed her palm, then closed his eyes and sighed softly. "Alright."

TBC …