A/N: Not really beta'd but it goes with the last chapter ("I Loved You Once in Silence").

Betcha thought Elsie just LEFT Charles in his room, huh?

Thank you for all the reviews and PM's. I really am enjoying reading them all! :) I am STUNNED at how MANY of them there are!

We're officially in the part of the fic that was the brain(dream)child of YellowBrickRoad/theladychelsieofdownton. Shout-out to her for the idea, and to silhouettedswallow for letting me know the memory below read through clearly.

xx

"Mr. Carson," whispered Elsie sharply.

The butler snapped his head up to attention. Again. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, something that was rarely an issue for him. Charles was being haunted by his dreams – a result of the trauma of the accident, Mr. Barrow had said – and they weren't getting better; in fact, they were immeasurably worse last night than they'd ever been before. Not only had his horrible nightmares about the train wreck been keeping him from sleeping, but now they included memories of his past with Elsie, his sleeping brain twisting and distorting the details until nothing but flashes of fear and sadness remained. He'd slept remarkably well last night after having woken half the servants with his shouting, but he had many nights of bad dreams to make up for and the fatigue was rapidly catching up to him. He looked to his right, where Elsie sat - at his right hand, supporting and helping him as she always was - and he allowed himself to give her a small smile and a nod of thanks.

She returned the smile in kind, then scanned the table to see if anyone had noticed. Not likely, she thought, only to see Mr. Barrow looking at her oddly. Well, damn. Elsie picked up her spoon and dug heartily into her porridge, trying in vain to drag her thoughts away from last night ...

"... don't you EVER feel that you cannot confide in me, my dear man. We may still be making our way through this, but we'll do so TOGETHER."

"Alright."

Charles felt that he could get lost in the feel of her palm against his face. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, the pleading gaze knocking the breath right out of her. "Elsie ... would you … stay with me?"

He saw a flash of suspicion in her eyes before it vanished immediately; he was afraid, very afraid indeed, and she saw it.

"Not all night," he added quickly, "and not like that. But … perhaps just until I fall asleep?"

She nodded, and felt his cheek collapse into her palm as relief overtook him.

"I feel as though I'm a boy again, begging Mama to check for ghouls under the bed," he whispered. "I've never been this afraid of anything as an adult - afraid of falling asleep, for God's sake." He looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "I must sound like a fool …"

"No," she cooed, running her fingertips through the hair at his temple before dropping her hand back by her side. "Charlie, I'll hear none of that. I shall stay, if that's what you wish." She moved to close the door, and then returned to his bedside. She was silent, staring at him as he stared back. He seemed to be waiting for her to move, a look of confusion evident in his furrowed brow. She chuckled. "Well, c'mon … budge over then, will ye?"

He heard the thickening of her brogue, just a slight hint but one he knew well and recognized as a sign that she was quite tired. It took a moment for what she'd said to register, his eyebrows flying up once it did.

"What? Here? In the bed? I rather thought the chair …" his voice murmured, trailing off as he waved his hand in the general direction of the chair that sat in the corner of the room.

"Move," she instructed, making a shooing motion with her hands. "We'll manage, and don't you worry – I'll leave once you've nodded off." She nibbled her lip, considering. "You'll fall asleep more easily this way, I think," she added quietly.

Charles sighed. "Alright, then. Perhaps … if you sit on top of the blankets?" he suggested.

"As you wish," she replied calmly.

He moved over toward the edge of the bed and lay back down on one of the pillows, turned on his side so as to open up as much space as possible for her.

Elsie sat on top of the bedding as requested, her back against the headboard, and Charles silently pushed his second pillow behind her back to make her more comfortable. She reached her arm out towards him and scooted down a bit until she was comfortable, and Charles tucked himself in by her side.

Like a child, he thought again, but this time it didn't bother him quite as much. He felt … comforted … peaceful.

She smoothed the wrinkles in his pajamas for a few minutes, lost in her thoughts, and then moved her hand to the top of his arm and caressed it lightly. His head was resting on her side and Charles began to relax. He had a vague sensation of wanting to just wrap his arms around her and pull her close, but he was loathe to say anything that would give away his feelings. She sensed his discomfort, though, and silently offered her left hand to him, which he grasped in his right, intertwining their fingers as their joined hands rested upon her stomach.

"I cannot tell you how many days I dreamed of this, of being here with you," Elsie whispered. "And here we are at last ... although it's certainly not what I'd imagined."

"Dare I ask what you imagined?" Charles ventured boldly.

"I'm not sure you need to know," she answered with a smirk. She chuckled at his frustrated sigh, and gave in. "Ach, Charlie … it's the comfort of it all that I've craved, to be honest. Being here, with you, being able to soothe you like this. 'Mr. Carson' never would have allowed it, no matter how much I wanted it."

His eyes closed heavily as he settled himself more comfortably into her side. The impropriety of the entire situation didn't faze either of them; if anything, Elsie felt more comfortable in that moment than she had most other times she'd spent alone with him these past many years.

"Maybe 'Mr. Carson' has changed," he murmured. He breathed deep, calming breaths, trying to take in her presence in any way possible for as long as she remained there, holding him.

"Maybe," she answered thoughtfully.

She felt the change in his body the instant he fell asleep, his weight suddenly heavier on her side, his arm sinking into her thigh as his fingers involuntarily loosened their grip around hers.

"Hopefully," she whispered.

When Charles woke at dawn, she was gone. He rolled over and placed his face into the extra pillow he'd been clutching, inhaling deeply and catching her familiar scent: lavender, lemons, and something that he recognized instantly as just 'Elsie' ...

"Mrs. Hughes?" he asked quietly, aware that now it was him keeping her from drifting off. For the first time that day, he wondered if she'd managed any sleep at all … and at what time, exactly, she had left his room.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, what was it you were saying?" Elsie blushed faintly at being caught out, knowing that he'd seen her thoughts of last night written all over her face. But they were thoughts that she could tell were running through his own mind, according to the look in his eyes, a look that was a mixture of wariness, understanding, and something she dared not identify with a word as long as they were sitting at the servants' table and surrounded by the rest of the staff.

"I was merely asking about the day ahead. What have you got planned?"

"Well, nothing too out of the ordinary, except that I need to spend a significant amount of time going through my morning rounds. I neglected that a bit yesterday, I'm afraid, trying to get that bloody ledger sorted - which I finally did, I'm happy to say. Once I've finished with that it's business as usual, I suppose, including the dreaded linen inventory. And you?"

"His Lordship is expecting a visit from the group that's trying to have a war memorial constructed. I expect that they're coming to ask him to lead the group, of course. He's asked that I be there personally in the event that they wish to have tea."

Elsie's heart sang when she saw the look of pride on his face as he uttered that last bit, happy for him that he was comfortable once again with the aspects of his more recent life. Getting back to any physical work had been somewhat of a greater challenge than he'd anticipated, and the frustration had certainly been counterproductive for a man who was supposed to be more carefully avoiding stress; the fact that he was now looking forward to being able to carry out his job - as opposed to dreading it - was a welcome change.

"Of course he has," she replied kindly. "I'm sure he's happier than almost anyone that you're feeling yourself again."

Charles hummed in agreement, then cleared his throat and rose to dismiss the staff. Amidst the scraping of chairs and the cacophony of bells that began ringing simultaneously, he turned and addressed Elsie one last time before heading to his pantry.

"If you've the time later on, perhaps we could escape for a walk? I'm not sure why, but lately I feel the confines of my pantry to be somewhat maddening. Except for his Lordship's meeting and finishing the inventory of the wine delivery, I'm relatively free."

"I'd love to, Mr. Carson," she replied with a wary smile, her eyes darting about to see if anyone had overheard. Noting no one around, she continued, "I'll find you once I've finished with the linens."

He reached out and tapped his hand lightly to her elbow in agreement, not daring to squeeze it or do or say anything else in so public a spot. "Excellent. I look forward to it, Mrs. Hughes," he answered, winking at her once again but disappearing before she had the time to chastise him for it.

Elsie shook her head and sat back down, seemingly focused on the contents of her teacup when her mind was really a million miles away. He's gone utterly mad!

She didn't notice Mrs. Patmore enter the servants' hall and didn't even see her approach the table until the woman pulled out a chair and plopped unceremoniously into it.

"Good morning, Mrs. Patmore." Elsie managed to wipe smile off of her face, but not nearly in time for it to have gone unnoticed.

"It appears that way now, doesn't it?" came the cook's reply. The quiet tone of her voice gave Elsie pause, and ignited a spark of apprehension … the cook was rarely quiet. "And why is it, Mrs. Hughes, that this particular morning is so lovely?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Elsie said. "Unless you're referring to how happy I am to finally be caught up on my paperwork. I can assure you I'm most certainly not looking forward to today's linen inventory."

"No, I didn't think it was that. Mrs. Hughes, you just spent the better part of that breakfast looking like the cat that ate the canary!" She paused a moment, looking around to be sure no one had entered the room and overheard her. "So I'm wondering what, exactly, has placed that broad smile on your face, hm?"

Elsie said nothing as she looked down at her hands, now clutched tightly together in her lap. She didn't trust herself to speak, afraid that once she started it would be impossible to stop. And of all the people she didn't want to tell of her precarious relationship with Mr. Carson, it was the kindly woman now seated in Miss Baxter's chair.

"Honestly, woman," Mrs. Patmore whispered, "whatever the two of you have going on lately is showing. Mark my words, I doubt that I'm the only one who's noticed. You'd do well to hide it much better than you did this morning."

Elsie chewed so hard on her lip that she was worried she'd drawn blood. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself, trying to figure out a way to tell only a fraction of the powerful truth.

"Something is different," she allowed. "I'll not deny that, but that's all I'll say for the moment." She raised her head and looked the cook directly in the eyes. "At some point, I promise to tell you what it is … but, right now, I simply cannot explain it, even to myself."

"I'll hold you to that," Mrs. Patmore said with a smile. "I'm rather looking forward to it, you know."

Elsie nodded briefly in acknowledgement, hoping that her face gave away nothing of her true thoughts.

You say that now, Mrs. Patmore, she thought. But what will happen when you know the truth?

Elsie was quite afraid of the answer to that question, knowing that this friendship that she and the cook had shared, the precious camaraderie and confidence in one another that they'd somehow forged over the years through fights, war, scandal, and illness, had been on the line from the moment that Charles had been in hospital, asking to see the family that no one but Elsie had known existed.

So ... yes, it is Daisy. Daisy - a nickname for "Margaret." Lots of you asked if the flowers were daisies. I hadn't actually thought of that, but it was a lovely suggestion, so please make it so in your own minds if you so choose.