A/N: This was a tough one, and there are lots of feels. Thanks to silhouettedswallow for slashing my obsession with commas and her patience with my endless questions and drafts. Thanks for all the reblogs and reviews! I love how the story is spreading and, while it's not going to be pretty, I'm glad some of you will have your questions answered regarding the last chapter's end. At the suggestion of the wonderful deeedeee, I eliminated the bold-faced print from the memory. Memory sections are between the lined areas within the story.

(Spotify has the playlist for the story: Username is ChelsieSouloftheAbbey and playlist is for "Music of the Heart.")

You are pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie,

You're in the arms of the Angel,

May you find some comfort here.

~"Angel," by Sarah McLachlan

"God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, and thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, a gauntlet with a gift in it." –Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Elsie stared out into the gloom, watching the familiar countryside fly by through the rain-streaked window, lost in thought. The past twenty-four hours had brought a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings her way; some were gloriously wonderful, while others were almost unbearable. She'd been overwhelmed by it all, by showing a strong face to everyone around her. But now, soothed by the sounds of the train and the rushing storm, Elsie was able to breathe a bit more normally. Typically, she could compartmentalize her feelings without any problem, so that they did not get in the way of the job that needed doing, the duties to be overseen. She had given up on that hours ago. That won't work this time. You always feared this day would come, Els … the day you'd have to deal with this possibility. But never did she expect it so soon.

Sensing a presence beside her, Elsie realized her meal had arrived. With a nod and as much of a smile as she could manage, she thanked the woman who had delivered it, and attempted a few bites. Thank god for the tea. Unsure of whether or not she'd finally be able to eat something, Elsie treaded softly, realizing that the only things she'd consumed since yesterday morning were two cups of tea, some toast, and some whiskey. But today the tea and sandwiches seemed to settle fairly well, despite her inability to finish everything. Pushing the remainder aside, Elsie resumed her contemplation of the countryside. The wind whipping the rain around mimicked the maelstrom that had been going on inside of her. Realizing she had at least another hour to go before reaching her first destination, she closed her eyes and tried to get some rest, but all she could do was think back on the sequence of events that brought her to the seat she currently occupied …

Elsie's eyes opened slowly, and she realized that she was reclining on the settee in her sitting room, one hand clutched in both of Charles's.

"Welcome back," he said softly, smiling down at her. "Are you hurt?"

Trying to pull the details of what happened out of her mind, Elsie recalled the strong, warm arms that had enveloped her as she fell to the floor. "Not physically … thanks to you, I think."

Elsie sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Charles released her hand and passed her a cup of tea. She thanked him, but couldn't manage more than a few sips before putting it aside.

"Mr. Branson has left, but promises to be back shortly," he said. Despite her lingering haziness, Elsie heard the double-meaning in his words: He'll be back soon, to see you. He'll be back soon, so we cannot continue our conversation.

Oh … yes. Elsie glanced at the floor, trying to believe the turn of events that had taken place in this room just prior to her fainting. Fainting into the arms of the man you love, lass? Truly ... She had been nervous about sitting with Charles tonight, finally talking after so many days, so many years, and then … oh, my God, he LOVES you! But now … who knows what the future will hold NOW? You have so many things to address, Els. He needs to know all of it. Just not quite yet.

"You've read the telegram, I presume? You know that … " Elsie tried to say, but couldn't continue, tears starting to fall down her face. Elsie realized she had shed more tears tonight than she had in the last several years put together, but she really didn't care anymore.

"Yes, I'm so very sorry about Becky. It didn't say much, of course. You will want to telephone them?" Charles inquired gently, as if he were painfully aware of how difficult this would be for her, the one who was used to being so strong for everyone else but who rarely spared the time to care for herself.

"In the morning, yes. I'll need to make arrangements … I'll need to be away." Elsie wasn't sure how she was going to get through all of this, but Charles reached over and squeezed her hand, steadying her. He handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted with a nod of thanks. They sat in silence for a few minutes while she collected her thoughts. Always caring for you, lass … of course … when you let him.

The knock at the door startled them both and they stood, but this time neither bothered removing their hand from the other. "Come in, please," said Elsie.

Tom Branson entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Mrs. Hughes, I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am," he began.

"Thank you, Mr. Branson," she replied. "I appreciate that." Elsie paused, unsure of what to say to this man to whom she'd offered so much comfort when they'd lost his precious wife.

Tom looked at her and said, "I have taken the liberty of arranging some things for you, Mrs. Hughes. I've spoken with Anna … I hope you don't mind." Elsie shook her head. "She is prepared to assume your duties in addition to her own whenever you need to leave, for as long as you need. Just let her know when you've established your schedule and leave everything else to us," he said, glancing at Charles, who nodded in agreement.

At first, Elsie was taken aback by his words, but then she understood. She and Tom Branson were alike in many ways. They weren't afraid to express unpopular ideas. Both had learned how to manage their dedication to different causes more carefully as the years went on, but they were each individuals of action. Elsie recognized the hopeful, almost pleading, look in his eyes as he watched for her reaction. He needs to DO something, Elsie … ANYTHING to take the focus away from death and put it back into the living. Of course he does, and you will allow it with no complaint.

"Thank you, Mr. Branson. I'm deeply grateful to you all … for taking care of me," she added, looking at Charles.

"We are happy to help in any way that we can, Mrs. Hughes. Sort of … returning the favor, as it were," Tom said. They shared a brief smile, neither wanting to verbalize exactly how much help Elsie had given Tom over the years, not with Charles right there, listening. Tom reached for her arm, squeezed it briefly, and left.

"Well, I think it's time for you to head up," Charles said to Elsie.

She turned to look at him, feeling a rush of emotions pass from his eyes to hers and back again. Elsie knew this was not the time to continue their conversation from earlier – not even a full hour ago – and nodded her agreement. But she couldn't seem to move from the spot, as if doing so would break the bond between. It was such a new experience for them both, with her openly hurting and him standing beside her trying to be the strong one, the one who would care for her and … just maybe … heal her. It was the complete opposite of how their relationship had always been, and she decided to allow this, to allow him to help in putting her broken pieces back together as well as they would fit.

Charles removed his hand from hers then and placed it gently at the small of her back. He silently escorted her out of the room, closing the door behind them. He walked her up the stairs, and just before they parted he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"You know where to find me if you need me," he said.

"Yes," she replied, looking into his eyes.

I'm here for you, they said.

I appreciate it, hers replied.

The next morning, Elsie had woken slowly. She remarked that the sun had already risen and her heart dropped at the realization that she'd overslept. Then the events of the prior evening came rushing back to her, and she rolled onto her side, curling herself into a ball as she'd done when she was just a girl, allowing herself a few extra minutes. To hell with breakfast. The dream she'd been having returned to her then, a dream full of darkness, loud voices, threats and more. It contained no beach, no warm hand, and no potential of a promise to be fulfilled. No … this was a nightmare from her past, the one that Elsie had a chance to truly bury once and for all … if she had the strength to do it.

The effort it took to push her past down inside of her all these years had made Elsie unbelievably tired. She'd arrived at Downton with little she wished to tell of her past, but that wasn't terribly unusual for a girl in service and so it went relatively unnoticed. Over time, Elsie became the unofficial confidante of those at the Abbey, and she was pleased by that. It fulfilled her need to help people, particularly those who were less fortunate, and it allowed her to put the focus on them instead of herself. The more she looked after others, the less they felt the need to do the same for her. That allowed Elsie to build up her own little wall of sorts, isolating the girl inside from the Mrs. Hughes that she had fought to become. It was why she understood so clearly the butler that was Charles Carson, and the likelihood that a very different man lived somewhere deep inside. Yes, Elsie Hughes knew all about constructing protective walls.

Elsie thought she had been so careful in the little dance she and Charles had done over the years. He'd get closer, make his way into her heart just a little, often without realizing it, and she'd find some way to turn the care and comfort toward him instead, deflecting it before he realized her true feelings. His heart … the flu … Alice … oh, God – Haxby. Then, when Elsie had feared for her own health, she turned to another for comfort, allowing Mrs. Patmore to help her instead. She closed herself off from the one person whom she feared would see right into the center of her pain, the one she now knew would have dedicated his life to caring for her had she truly been dying. Yet through it all, he'd still been right there supporting her … hiding in the shadows, a step behind perhaps, but present nonetheless. She had not realized until last night how deep his feelings had been, but the thought brought her little comfort now. Until he had all the details, it meant almost nothing. You'll tell him when you return … whenever that is. You owe him that much. It cannot remain hidden, not now. It will all come out, because you'll never be able to keep it from him after this … you won't be the same woman, and he'll see that as soon as you step off that train that will bring you back into his life.

Elsie rose from the bed, cognizant of the fact that no maid had woken her but fully aware that she still would have responsibilities to carry out. It wouldn't be like when her mam had passed, when she'd only been head housemaid and the housekeeper had simply taken over her duties. Elsie would have to rearrange her schedule in addition to making travel plans and funeral arrangements, and all of that needed to be done as soon as possible.

When she was halfway to her wardrobe, Elsie noticed two envelopes on the floor, evidently slid under her door during the night. Curious, she picked them up off the floor, scowling as her bones creaked in the process. Getting on, indeed. Elsie took the envelopes to her small desk and looked at the smaller of the two. She recognized the handwriting immediately, opened it, and read:

Mrs. Hughes,

Words cannot express my sadness for what you are going through. Please do not feel the need to attend breakfast, for Mr. Carson will be informing the staff about what has happened. I will send a tray up with Daisy. The schedule we discussed previously is taken care of, and you can be assured that as of this moment you have no duties to oversee. Please try to rest and to eat something … you'll need your strength.

Affectionately,

Anna

Elsie was overcome at the words before her. Anna had single-handedly taken over all of Elsie's responsibilities, allowing the housekeeper time to herself and an opportunity to take care of what she needed and, equally important to Elsie, time to gather her thoughts before seeing the other staff. She was eternally grateful that she would not have to be the one who would explain her upcoming absence and the reason behind it. She knew that either Anna, Mr. Branson or even Charles would inform Lady Mary and the rest of the family. And there would be no question about her being allowed the time she needed, not if Mr. Branson had any say in the matter.

Then came a knock on the door, and Elsie's quiet, "Come in." She placed the letters on her desk and stood, facing the doorway.

Daisy entered with a breakfast tray, looking as though she'd rather be anywhere but in front of Elsie at that moment.

"Daisy, thank you," Elsie said kindly. "I appreciate you taking the time to put this together so beautifully for me," she continued, noticing the vase with her favorite flowers and the variety of her favorite foods on the tray. That girl is more attentive than most realize.

"You're welcome," Daisy said, clearly fighting back tears. "Mrs. Hughes … I'm … oh, my …"

The poor girl. She, too, knows the acute pain you're feeling, Els. So much tragedy in this house … so much loss.

Elsie approached Daisy, taking the tray from her hands and setting it aside. She wrapped her arms around the girl, patting her back and comforting her as they both wept.

After a minute, Daisy pulled back. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hughes … the last thing you need is me falling apart all over you."

"Nonsense," replied Elsie. "I shall be just fine – better fortified, in fact, by this lovely breakfast. Thank you again," she continued, knowing already that she wouldn't be able to eat much of it.

Daisy nodded and let herself out. Elsie remembered the second envelope, the one bearing her name in unfamiliar handwriting. She took it to the desk, poured a cup of tea, and opened it. She was startled as she began to read:

Dear Mrs. Hughes,

Mr. Branson and Anna have informed me of the horrible news you received earlier this evening, and I write expressing my deepest condolences on the death of your sister, Becky. I do hope that you will not begrudge either of them having shared this information, as I know they did so as a means of alleviating some of the burdens you are undoubtedly now facing.

I have few words of comfort that I can offer you, except to say that of course I know the pain of losing one's younger sister, and I imagine that I can understand some of what you may be feeling at this time.

Please allow me to arrange and pay for your travel expenses to Lytham St. Anne's, and further to your home in Argyll. I've gleaned a few details of what you may require from Mr. Carson, and when you have finalized the details of your travel needs you have only to communicate them to any of us and they will be taken care of.

I realize that we have never enjoyed what could be referred to as a close relationship, Mrs. Hughes, but I assure you I mean only to make your next few days a bit easier. You are highly regarded by this entire family, and we mean to care for you as much as we are able in your time of need, as you've so often taken care of us throughout your time at Downton.

Very sincerely,

Lady Mary Crawley

Elsie was stunned. There was really no other word for it. Well, I never. Lady Mary Crawley. The one Elsie was never fond of, and she strongly suspected the feeling was mutual. The one who, slowly but surely, seemed to be changing before everyone's eyes, coming into herself in a way that no one predicted. Not quite true, lass … Charles always gave testament to a softer side of her. Mr. Crawley saw it, too, evidently.

But this … this is too much. And the wonder of it all was that she wouldn't dream of refusing – the rudeness of turning down a gift that had been offered with such care and thoughtfulness was not part of Elsie's character. Yes, the younger Ladies would very well understand Elsie's pain, having also lost a sister in tragic and unexpected circumstances. They may not have known about Becky's existence, but that did not change the profound sadness of this shared experience.

Elsie rose and got dressed. She fixed her hair, and attempted to eat some of her breakfast. She congratulated herself on managing two slices of toast and an entire cup of tea, but thus fortified she had to get out of her room before she went stir crazy. Setting a few items on her bed to pack later on that day, she headed downstairs to seek out Charles … and his telephone.

Thankfully, Elsie had passed no one in the hall. Due to the hour, she knew Charles would be in his pantry. She knocked softly and entered as he looked up.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson."

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. Did you have a restful night?"

"Not particularly, but I did sleep some which is more than I'd hoped for," she answered honestly. "Might I use your telephone, please?"

Charles noticed the controlled clip in her voice, the brogue that had been thicker last evening reined in once more, and the business-only look to her face. Knowing she was holding herself together with the familiar comfort of having a task to accomplish, he nodded and left the room. "Take as long as you need," he said on the way out. He closed the door behind him.

Elsie went directly to his desk, taking his seat. She reveled in the comfort it provided, in the smell of the leather and … him. The feeling of the chair around her calmed her nerves and gave her the strength to pick up the receiver and ask for the necessary extension. She waited for the connection to be made, phrasing her words in her head before the line was picked up. Once she had someone at the other end, Elsie was business as usual. She identified herself, thanked the woman at the end of the line for her heartfelt condolences, and made arrangements to stop by the home – Becky's home – to collect her baby sister's things before making the trip to Argyll for the burial. She appreciated the request of the staff to hold a small memorial service once Elsie had arrived. She knew they all loved her Becky almost as much as she did, and Elsie was touched. Managing somehow to wrap up the conversation, she hung up the receiver, looked over her notes … and burst into silent tears. Again.

With no idea really of how long she'd been sitting there, Elsie heard Anna's voice outside the door. She heard the knock and quickly wiped her tears as Anna knocked and entered the room.

"Mrs. Hughes," was all Anna had time to get out before rushing to the woman in the chair and wrapping her in a fierce hug.

Elsie was overwhelmed with the memories flooding her veins. Memories of the sister she'd lost, the sole bright and shining light from her past, mixing with thoughts of all the days she'd spent comforting this strong, small woman who was now holding her. Anna, Charles, Tom Branson, even Lady Mary … She was unable to speak, so moved was she by the caring, the love, that she was receiving from all around her. Wordlessly, she and Anna separated and Elsie handed the young woman the notes she'd made that contained all the details of her travel arrangements. A voyage into the past. Anna glanced at the paper and put it in her pocket.

Elsie watched Anna, acutely aware of how the woman had blossomed over the past years into someone confident and capable while never losing her quiet, loving manner. Slowly Elsie rose from Charles's chair, moved her hand to her waist, and unclipped the precious chatelaine from her belt. Handing it to Anna, Elsie looked her in the eyes, and whispered with a wink, "Don't let Mrs. Patmore have that storeroom cupboard key, whatever you do." Anna giggled, taking the keys from Elsie's hand and clipping them to her own dress.

"You have nothing here to worry about, Mrs. Hughes, nothing whatsoever."

Later that day, packed and ready, Elsie waited outside the door for the car that would drive her to the station. She'd been prepared to walk there, leaving in the morning, but Lady Mary had insisted she be driven. Elsie packed her things while the others were at lunch, and no sooner had she finished – more than ready to get on with it, now, with no actual work to attend to anymore – than she was notified by Charles that the chauffeur would be driving her to the station. He informed her that tickets would be waiting for her at the window upon her arrival, and that accommodations in both Lytham St. Anne's and Argyll had been booked for her trip. Should she need anything else, she had only to ask.

Elsie had nodded in acknowledgement of his words, her mind reeling, and once again she was rendered speechless. That's getting old, she thought, a chuckle erupting from her. Charles raised an eyebrow in amusement, but said nothing. He seemed to know she was not yet able to resume their familiar manner of the previous night. Of course he does … he knows you.

The car arrived at last, and Elsie was grateful to be alone. But just as she bent to pick up her bag, she heard familiar, strong footsteps coming through the door. Wordlessly picking up the suitcase from the ground beside her, Charles walked Elsie to the car. He handed her bag to the chauffeur, and opened the door for her.

Marveling at the man, Elsie laughed softly. "I'm no Lady, Mr. Carson. You don't need to wait on me."

He paused for a moment, allowing himself to stare directly into her eyes. "I beg to differ, Mrs. Hughes," he whispered. "Travel safely."

Elsie was startled by the sound of the train as it began to slow, finally approaching the station. She stretched in the comfortable seat, shaking her head in wonder once again at Lady Mary. Traveling in first class, indeed. And Elsie knew that words of instruction must have been passed through the staff on the train, for no questioning eyebrows were thrown her way upon seeing a woman of her clearly meager means holding a first-class ticket. No, Elsie was allowed her peace and quiet, her time to be in her own thoughts.

Slowly, over the past day, it had dawned on Elsie that she was being cared for. Not just cared about, but truly cared FOR ... as if by … a family. My family. 'They're all the family I've got,' he'd said, and you rolled your eyes at him. But they DO care – upstairs and down – for YOU. This entire experience proves that. Elsie thought back to the kind looks, touches on her arm, and mercifully few words that she had received from the staff and the family. She felt the warmth of their invisible embrace as the train finally came to a stop, and she rose from her seat and reached for her handbag. That warmth would buoy her, giving her strength in the days to come. She felt safe. Loved. It was a remarkable feeling.

It was going to be a long couple of days.