A/N: Thanks to Kouw, whose lovely comment for the previous chapter brought this plot bunny to life. Hope you enjoy!
He's sitting, awkward, uncomfortable, waiting for his annual physical with Dr. Clarkson. Nothing wrong, really. He's in excellent physical shape. He might be carrying an extra stone or two, but no one seems to mind. He absentmindedly twirls his hat in his hands. There is one thing, though, that's been troubling him. Only since his marriage, though. Never before. Well, alright, sometimes before, but he could control it then. He could be patient then. Not now. He thinks of it all the time. He thinks of it in the morning (especially in the morning, first thing in the morning) until he forces himself out of the bed, changes out of his nightclothes and puts on the water for tea, unless she's done it already. He likes to give her a bit of space in the morning, a bit of time all her own, to do her hair, lace up her corset, whatever else it is she does to prepare for the day. He doesn't want to know. Not really. He's able to eat, of course, then she gives him a lovely kiss after breakfast, sometimes before, depending, then he goes out to the garden. There he can work a bit and not think of it, though sometimes he does. Then it's luncheon and she's near him again. She has the loveliest scent: fresh and clean, invigorating he would say. Sometimes he can get close enough to smell her without distracting her, like he used to do in the old days, though it shames him to think of it. All that time they wasted; he wasted. Well. He has her now, as often as he likes it seems, but maybe he likes it too much? Is it wrong? A sin? Perhaps this is a question for the rector, but no. He's seen the way the man looks at Elsie. No, definitely not. It's not a question for the rector. But should he be concerned, medically speaking? They are older, after all. He, especially; he's not some randy young man. But then he thinks of them in the kitchen just the other day, and his face burns and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. What was that? Not even to wait until a proper, more suitable time and place, but to take her there in the kitchen. It was, it was, well it was wonderful, of course. He could still hear the sound of the muffled cries she made as he…
"Mr. Carson?" A pretty young nurse interrupts his thoughts. "Dr. Clarkson will see you now."
*CE*
He's buttoning his waistcoat, nearly ready to put his suit coat back on.
"Well, Mr. Carson," Dr. Clarkson strides in the room again, "very fit, I should say. Of course you could stand to lose a stone or two, if you've a mind to. Certainly make it easier on your knees."
Charles grunts noncommittally as he elegantly shrugs into his coat. "Yes, well."
"Very well, then. We'll see you again next year?" Carson nods. "Give my regards to Mrs. Carson."
"Well, doctor. There is, that is to say, I was wondering…"
"Yes, anything else?"
"Well, I was wondering whether it is normal, proper, for two people who have…well, what I mean to say is when two people marry and both are…"
Clarkson takes pity on the poor man. "It's not uncommon, Mr. Carson, for there to be," he pauses, "difficulties at your stage in life. The best advice is to be patient and to remember that not everything works as it once did. There are other ways," he says delicately, "for a husband to show his affection."
Charles is aghast. He thinks, he actually thinks that I can't, that we haven't…it's insupportable.
"That's not it at all, Doctor. If anything, there have been frequent…encounters."
"Oh," says Dr. Clarkson, somewhat taken aback. "Well, then, you have my congratulations."
"I don't need congratulations," snaps Charles. "I need to know if this is normal!"
"Normal? I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."
Charles grinds his teeth in frustration. "I'm asking whether it's normal for people of our age, my age," he corrects himself, "to be quite so active. Is that normal?" His face is red and his chest is tight. Damn and blast the man for being so obtuse.
"Well." Now Clarkson finds himself flustered, embarrassed even. Shocking for an old medical man like himself. He thought he'd heard them all, but this one really took the biscuit. Of all things to worry about! He sighed. Poor Mr. Carson, unable to enjoy the gifts God has granted him. Poor Mrs. Carson. On second thought, he amended that. She'd always been able to manage him better than most. Better than any, really. He'd no doubt she was just fine. He'd seen her on the street recently and he thought she was looking remarkably well, any traces of the stress and anguish from her cancer scare gone. No, she was more blooming than he'd ever seen her. Now he knows why. But to get him on the right track. What should he say? "Well, I'd say that's normal, perfectly normal. Newly wedded couples often discover the delightful nature of marital intimacy and return to it with frequency. It's very natural and it tends to pass with time. Unless there have been complaints?"
Complaints? What could the man mean by complaints? Elsie's not complained. "No. No, none that I'm aware of."
"Then you've nothing to worry about," Clarkson says briskly. "Everything sounds perfectly normal, perfectly fine."
"So you don't think there is anything wrong? With me, I mean?"
Poor sod. "No, Mr. Carson. There is nothing wrong with you at all, "Clarkson says kindly. "Go home. Go home and enjoy being married. And thank God you've the time and energy to spend with one another. It could so easily have gone another way."
Charles blanches at the thought. He doesn't like to be reminded of Elsie's scare; he tries not to think of it at all. "Yes, yes, you're right. Of course." He straightens and the cool façade of Carson the butler reappears. "Thank you, doctor, you've been most informative. Good day."
"Good day, and please do give my regards to Mrs. Carson."
"Indeed I will." He turns stiffly and leaves the room.
Clarkson watches the door for a long moment. He's tempted to laugh, of course he is, but the pathos of the situation makes him sorrowful instead. A good man, that, but seemingly incapable of enjoying life's few pleasures. He hoped he'd been able to straighten out that little misunderstanding. But if he hadn't, he trusted Mrs. Carson could.