A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews! I can't reply to some, but appreciate them all the same. I'm putting in a trigger warning for this chapter, simply because of difficult material. I hope I'm not giving all of you emotional whiplash between the happy/funny chapters and the darker ones. If anyone is curious, Downton Abbey cannot be rented. I asked.

Charles stood fourth in line at the small bakery. He glanced over at Mary, who gave him a small smile and shrug in return. After he finally placed their order and received their food, he made his way over to the table tucked beside the brick wall, underneath the huge chalkboard menu. He set the tray down.

"Thanks for grabbing a table, they're more crowded today than I thought they would be. I didn't think so many people would be working the week between Christmas and the New Year."

"Thank you for lunch," she said, her tone slightly stilted. "I should not have let you pay for mine."

"I'm allowed to spoil you from time to time," he said, folding his hands.

Mary looked as if she didn't believe him, pressing her lips together. "You have someone else on which to lavish your generosity now. I wonder why you bother with me." Charles dipped a piece of bread into his steaming bowl. "What kind of soup is that?"

"Vegan curried potato and leek soup," he said, spooning a mouthful, blowing on it before he tasted it.

"Is it good?"

"Very, I'm surprised you wanted the spinach salad. I thought you'd need something to warm you after the walk." They ate in silence for a few minutes before Charles spoke again.

"It would be easier if you told me what's bothering you."

"Why do I need to?" she asked, immediately hostile, her expression frosty. "You've been in a serious relationship for the better part of a year, with someone who works in our office no less, and you said nothing to me. Of course it bothers me!" She dropped her fork on the table with a clunk. "Why, Carson? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was not your business," he said as gently as he could. "And when I knew for sure that it was serious, that it was going somewhere, it was around the time Matthew was deployed abroad. I didn't think it was the right time to throw more upheaval into your life."

"Well, you thought wrong. I'm disappointed in you. I thought we were closer than that," she snapped. "And what do you mean, 'when you knew it was serious'? I suppose you mean when you started sleeping with her-"

"That's enough," Charles growled, swallowing his temper with difficulty. "I was thinking of your well-being when I decided not to tell you about Elsie last summer, about us."

"I seriously doubt that," she snorted. "If you cared about me at all, you would have thought twice about chasing a skirt right when I needed someone to rely on!"

"Stop," he whispered in an ominous voice, feeling his temple beginning to throb. "What do you think I am? Do you think that's all this is? Sex?" He pushed aside his empty soup bowl. "Mary. I love you like the daughter I never had. I always will. I want us to get along. But I wish you would stop acting like you need me to lean on when you've been perfectly able to stand on your own two feet. For a good ten years, at least." He sighed. "Please try to understand. Elsie is the center of my life now."

"I see," she said softly. She looked at the brick wall. "I have no place in your life then."

"That's not what I said," he retorted, refusing to take her bait. "You will always be a part of my life. When you married Matthew, it wasn't like I fell off of your radar, was it?" He raised his eyebrows as she continued studying the red brick. "It will be different, I won't pretend otherwise." He sighed, reaching for hand. Thankfully, she let him take it, although she still wasn't looking at him.

"I'm not asking for you to give a fireworks celebration," he said quietly. "But I do hope you can be happy for us. For me. Please."

She blinked, and he caught the glimmer of a tear. She took a shaky breath. Squeezing his hand, she nodded.

"I could never refuse you for long, Carson. You know how difficult change is for me," she said, a bit of humor playing on her lips. "It surprises me that you would adapt to it better than I."

"I've had someone close by helping me change for over twenty years," he said, smiling. "Even if I didn't realize it, she was getting me used to the idea that life is in a constant state of flux."

Mary slipped her hand from his. "Elsie doesn't like me," she said in a small voice.

"Oh, that's not true," he said. They raised their eyebrows at each other. "All right, she may not like you as much as I do, but she doesn't hate you."

"Not many people like me as well as you do."

"Edith doesn't like you as well as I do." She laughed at that.

"True. Although our feelings for each other have reached a kind of neutral zone. It's nothing like it was, even a few years ago."

"People change?" he asked. "What an original idea." She rolled her eyes and shook her head as they got up from the table.

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" He helped her into her coat.

"Probably not. At least, I'll keep it as the ace up my sleeve. Only use it when necessary." He glanced back at the counter. "No one's waiting. If you want something hot to drink on the way back, I suggest we get that now."

"Let me get it, since you bought lunch," she said, striding past him to the counter. Five minutes later, they hurried down the sidewalk back towards the office building.

"I'm glad you suggested something hot to drink, my hand will be the only part of me not frozen by the time we get back," she called, her voice raised over the noise of cars driving down the street. They walked in the crosswalk, he in front, waving at the stopped car. The low clouds overhead made the winter's day darker. The sign on the outside of their building was on, as were the lights in several offices. DOWNTON PLAZA blazed down at them as they approached the double doors. He looked up, saw Elsie sitting at her desk, engrossed in her work. Mary startled him out of his reverie.

"The lady in her tower?" She smiled, her voice soft. "You are a romantic, Carson. Someday you'll have to tell me how all of it began."

"It's a long story," he said, opening the front door. He was not sure he would know where to begin.

Then again, maybe he did.

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April 1995

The back patio at Pedro's was crowded, people enjoying the warmer spring evening. The outdoor bar was so jammed Charles decided to go inside. It was almost empty, save for a small group congregated in one corner, and a couple blissfully engaged in the other. A lone figure sat at the bar. Elsie Hughes.

"Mind if I join you?"

She jumped, startled. "Hello, Mr. Carson. I didn't see you. No, not at all," she fumbled for a Kleenex as he sat down. She dabbed at her eyes. "I didn't know you liked to come for the Friday happy hour," she said, trying to smile.

He shrugged. "Sometimes I do. I've met Dickie Merton here before, and others. I haven't often seen you here." He asked the bartender for a Newcastle and a glass for himself. "Can I get you anything?" Her glass was nearly empty. She sighed.

"I shouldn't, but I guess one more won't hurt." He ordered another Newcastle and tried not to notice her makeup running on her face. She had had her hair chopped short for several months, a style he didn't particularly care for, but he had to admit, she pulled it off better than most women.

"Is Martin coming later?" he asked. He was surprised not to see the affable associate from Jones Day by her side. They had been dating for over three years.

"No," she whispered. He felt his heart clench when tears started leaking down her face. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Carson," she stuttered as she looked away, wiping her face. "I don't want to disturb you-"

"Don't worry about it, I've seen worse," he said firmly. He waited as she calmed herself. He took her glass and slowly poured her beer into it, making sure to limit the foam. He then poured his own.

"What happened?" he asked as gently as he could. She let out a shuddering breath.

"We broke up," she said, her voice stronger. "I should have seen it coming. That's not to say we didn't-I mean, we did care for each other. But it wasn't enough."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, surprised that he meant it. "Martin Dye is a nice chap, he treated you well. You both seemed happy. I thought it was getting serious, to be honest." He took a drink.

"So did I," she bit her lip. She held her glass between her hands. "But I couldn't give him what he wanted."

He frowned, his eyebrows moving together. "Whatever do you mean by that? I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry," he took another drink, just for something to do.

She looked at him directly for the first time, dropped her head. "I'm sorry, I've already said too much." She took a long drink. "You're my boss, and we're friends, but I don't think you need, or want, to hear everything about my life."

He still asked. "Was it Becky?" he asked. "Was she too much for him to handle?"

"No, Martin was very fond of my sister," she said. "He was always very sweet with her. Shit," she cursed under her breath, and he flinched. She rarely used foul language, unless Miss O'Brien had given her a rough day. "I'm going to have to explain to her why she won't see him anymore. She won't understand." She sucked in a breath. "Stupid, stupid!" she burst out, resting her face on her hands. "This is why I try not to introduce anyone I'm seeing to Becky. If it doesn't work out, then she's confused."

Her sister wasn't the only one. "If he didn't have a problem with Becky, then I don't understand."

"Never mind," she said. It was as if an invisible wall were going up between them. "It's…women's stuff. I'm sure you don't want to be bothered with it."

"If you're bothered, then I'm bothered," he prodded. It would take a lot to make you upset.

She drank again, her glass half-empty. "I could have handled it, if he had said it wasn't working out," she whispered. "If he was cheating on me, it would have been easier. But he told me he wanted children."

He sat up on the barstool. "Isn't that a good thing? That's a sign he's serious about you."

"Not serious about me. He knows…I'm infertile. I won't ever have children," she said baldly, shaking her head. There were no tears in her eyes, only a shimmering pain that he could feel from several feet away.

He felt all of the air go out of his body. He slumped against the bar. "Oh, God. Mrs. Hughes, I am…so sorry."

"Don't be," she said shortly. He could see her jaw clenched. "I've known for a few years, I'm used to it. I try not to dwell on things I can't change." She took another sip of her beer. "I'm just not used to someone making me feel broken." Her voice cracked.

"You are not broken!" he said, the words coming out louder than he intended. The next time he saw Martin, he would strangle him. "Don't ever say that again!"

She choked back a sob and managed to give him a watery smile. "Thank you for that," she said, her voice ran her finger on the top of her glass. She sighed and cleared her throat, changing the subject. "Why don't you get married, Mr. Carson? Have children? I know how much you dote on Mary. And you're fond of Edith and Sybil. You would be a good father."

He shrugged. "It's unlikely it will happen."

"Why not? Surely there's someone who's caught your fancy," she teased lightly. She knew very well about Caroline Anstruther, the attorney from the Merton Law Firm, who wouldn't take no for an answer. He smiled, more at her regaining her sense of humor.

"There was, once. A long time ago," he said softly. "I'm not exaggerating when I say she broke my heart." She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh dear. Who was she?"

He gave her look. "I've never told anyone about her. Not even Robert."

"I've told you something no one else knows," she said gently. "Not even Beryl. Sometimes when you have an open wound…it's better to tell someone. Let it heal."

"Does it really help? To talk about it?" he asked. He hoped he hadn't been too forward with her earlier.

She tapped her finger on the bar. "I think it does help. I have to say, it does feel like a little of the weight of the world is off of my back." She blushed, looking down. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you by talking about personal things. I know you don't like that at work."

"We're not at work now," he reminded her, shrugging it off. "And we're friends. What are friends for, if not to listen?"

"True. And friends remind each other that they're not broken," she said, tucking a short strand of hair over her ear. "So will you tell me about this wicked creature who broke your heart?"

He took a deep breath. He had tried not to think about her for years. "Her name was Alice, Alice Neal. We met at the university." He looked at Elsie, who nodded in encouragement.

"We were inseparable for the last two years. She knew I wanted to go to law school, and encouraged me every step of the way." He shook his head, thinking about his younger self. "I didn't sleep much during my last year. I knew I needed to do well on the entrance tests, finish well before graduating. I needed a scholarship," he explained. "Both of my parents were gone by then, I had no one to rely on but myself.

"The last semester was a blur. I had been accepted to law school, won my scholarship, and the world seemed to be my oyster. Alice was going through auditions. She was a dancer," he said at Elsie's unspoken question. "She seemed remote, but I thought it was just the stress of everything. Until the very last day of final exams. I went back to my room to sleep, and she was there with my roommate, Charlie Grigg. In bed." He stopped, fighting a sudden lump in his throat. "I had bought a ring…"

"Mr. Carson, I am so sorry," Elsie gasped, her eyes wide in horror. "How terrible. You wanted to marry her," she said. She reached over and touched his arm.

"So badly…I could taste it," he whispered. He felt tears coming and looked away. Why did thinking of the moment still hurt, even after all this time?

"What happened to her?" she asked in a low voice, her eyes dark with anger. He swallowed hard, controlling himself.

"She and Grigg left together after graduation and got married soon after," he said. "I heard through mutual friends that they divorced after only a few years. She died a year and a half ago," he said quietly. "Cancer."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

"Don't be," he repeated her words. "I did go to her funeral. Grigg was there, and we reconciled. He told me that Alice had said that she'd married the wrong man. Whether or not that was true, it was nice to hear. I think he was telling the truth," the corner of his lip turned up, "for once."

"I am glad you were able to say goodbye," she said. There was a quiet pause. She shook her head, gave a little laugh. "What an optimistic conversation this has been! I'm sure you're sorry you came in here and saw me."

"Not a bit," he said. "In fact, I do feel better. Something about the weight of the world…" he looked at the ceiling, his fingers around his chin in mock-serious thought.

"I'm sure the drinks had something to do with it as well," she laughed again, indicating their nearly empty glasses. He raised his, clearing his throat.

"Maybe. Let's have a toast."

"To what?" she asked, raising her glass. "To drowning our sorrows?"

He mulled it over for a moment. "To friends. To those who listen when we're sad, and who help heal us when we feel broken."

Her eyes softened, and she clinked his glass against hers. "I can drink to that. To friends." They both drank. She licked her lips, the last of the beer gone. "I think we should do this more often."

"Do what? Confess our darkest secrets?" he asked.

"No," her eyes twinkled, "Have a drink, talk about life. NOT work."

"Hmmmm. How about next Friday, same time, same place?"

"I'll be here."

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It wasn't love all at once. She respected him very much. She could trust him to keep their conversations private. He appreciated having her ear, someone to unwind with. He trusted her judgment over anyone else.

Over the next twenty years, they met every Friday at Pedro's. Sometimes it was only for ten minutes in a packed bar, other times they lingered for an hour. Even when they had other commitments, they made the Friday drink a priority. He would quiz her on her latest date, and she would scold him for working too hard. They laughed or groaned over TV shows, music, movies. He tried to explain the rules of cricket. She tried to explain the wonders of modern technology. They argued about how men and women were different (or the same), fought over religion and politics, and solved the problems of the world.

Sometimes others would join them. Beryl was always good for a laugh, Robert talked too much but was very witty after a couple of drinks. When John Bates added his name to the firm, they celebrated together. They laughed over Mary and Matthew's wedding and cried remembering Sybil's funeral. They raised a silent prayer for William when he was deployed and gave him a silent toast after he was killed in Afghanistan.

Most of the time, it was just the two of them, talking about everything and nothing. In two decades, there were less than ten times they failed to meet on a Friday, barring a holiday.

They drank everything at the bar, including soda and water, after his heart surgery.

They never drank sherry. Pedro's didn't have any.