Thank you for your support! I'm sorry you always have to wait so long. This chapter is focussing on Charles, but there will be a one that will be about Elsie and how she felt.

Warning: Charles is not well in this one.

The seaside was beautiful. The air smelt and tasted salty. Waves were rolling in on the beach and Elsie's hand was holding his tight, a bright smile adorning her face. He could feel himself grinning at her soppily. His heart was beating fast, warming his entire being. He was happy – and then there was a sharp knock at the door and he was forced to open his eyes. Charles hated waking up in the morning. Waking up in his small, cold and lonely bed in his dark and chilly attic room. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. And then he began his morning routine by walking over to the small mirror at the wall to take in his sorry sight. He looked older. His face was grim and pale like he had been tortured. His eyes were still a little reddened from crying himself to sleep, but he knew that like every morning all evidence of tears having flown freely would have disappeared by the time he got downstairs. Grabbing his nightgown and wrapping it around him he left for the bathroom. He washed himself, shaved and forced his hair into a state that would be considered proper. Every morning when he fought with his curls he remembered how Elsie had loved running through them with her fingers while she kissed him tenderly. And the memory made him sick with sadness until he splashed cool water in his face and buried it deep down to get through the day. Downstairs he was the last to arrive at the servant's breakfast. He sat down at the head of the table. Not feeling particular hungry he drank one cup of tea and then retreated to his pantry before serving breakfast upstairs. He stood in the background until spoken to and it was like nothing had ever happened. Like his coma had never happened. Like Elsie had never happened.

…

"Where is dad?", Tommy asked.

Elsie startled at the sound of her son's voice and wiped at her eyes. Tommy stood in the door to her home-office, arms crossed in front of his chest, holding his chin high, quite clearly demanding an answer. Her hands began to shake as she realised that she didn't know what to tell him. "Charles is…" Her voice failed.

Tommy stared at her frightened of finding out what had happened, yet still needing to know what was going on. He remembered the last time she had been like this very well. "Mum, where is he?"

"Gone", she managed to breathe out until she broke into sobs again.

"What happened?", Tommy asked on the verge of tears.

"He… I…", she stuttered and then forced herself to take a deep breath. "It's a longer story."

"He's not dead, is he? Please say he's not dead", Tommy begged.

Elsie willed herself to be strong, just enough to tell Tommy about Charles. "He's gone in a different way."

…

Charles had spent every possible minute in his pantry, skipping lunch although he had not eaten his breakfast – again. Beryl had tolerated his behaviour until now, thinking that he needed time for himself, to sort things out after his long absence, but she had enough of it all now. If he continued like this she feared for his health that was not in the best state anyway. She prepared a tray with sandwiches and tea and made her way to his pantry. He stood when she entered. "How can I help?", he asked.

"I thought you could do with a cup of tea and something to eat", she replied and set the tray down onto his desk, pouring him a cup.

"And?", he inquired.

She handed him the cup. "Nothing and."

"I have known you long enough to know when you are up to something", he challenged her.

"And I have known you long enough to know when you are unwell", she countered.

Charles paused for only a moment, then sat back down and sipped at his tea. "I'm not unwell."

Beryl sighed and dropped onto the chair opposite of his desk. "You are not eating properly", she pointed out.

"I'm eating well enough, just less than I used to", he replied.

"You are not talking to anyone. You're spending too much time in here. What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong", he assured her. "I'm just busy. I had to catch up with quite a lot of work." He pretended to read over something in his wine ledger, hoping that she would leave it at that.

"It has something to do with that whole book business, hasn't it?"

His jaw was working intensely. "I had just woken up and wasn't in my right mind", he explained through clenched teeth.

"You didn't sound like you weren't in your right mind", Beryl pointed out.

"I was talking nonsense nonetheless."

"Charles, please, what is troubling you?"

"I'm fine", he insisted.

"Charles…"

"Shouldn't you be preparing upstairs dinner?", he asked coldly.

Beryl shook her head angrily. "You are impossible."

Charles was able to keep all emotion out of his expression until she had closed the door behind her. Then he clenched his right hand into a fist and bit down onto his knuckle to force the sob that had built up deep within him to stay trapped in his throat.

…

Beryl was angrily beating the meat for the upstairs dinner when Alice entered the kitchen. "Hello, Miss Neale", the cook greeted her, trying to sound nice and calm.

"Good day, Mrs. Patmore", Alice said. "Where might I find Mr. Carson?"

"He's in his pantry", Beryl answered and pointed to the door opposite of the kitchen.

"Is it a bad time to visit?", Alice asked.

Beryl shrugged. "He is not particular busy just now."

…

Charles was taking deep breaths to calm down when it knocked. Frustrated he got up and stormed to the door, opening it with such force that Alice startled. Charles was surprised to see her and didn't quite know what to say, so he simply stepped aside to let her enter. When he had closed the door, they both stood awkwardly in the middle of the room looking at each other.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner", she finally said, breaking the silence.

"No need to apologise", he assured her.

"Are you all right?"

"I have been improving", he assured her.

"I'm glad to hear it. I thought that you would…", she swallowed hard. "Die."

Charles gave her a sympathetic look, but had nothing to say.

"I couldn't bear losing you, you know", she said, tears falling from her eyes.

Now it was Chares who was swallowing hard. He fought the urge to hug her. It would only give her a false impression and otherwise it was too modern.

"Would you please say something?", she begged.

"I'm not sure what to say really", he answered honestly.

"I see", Alice said crestfallen.

"I don't mean to hurt you, but… Things have changed for me", he told her, his voice betraying him as it began to shake.

"What's changed?", Alice asked worriedly.

He took an unsteady breath. "I'd prefer not to talk about it."

Alice reached out for him and squeezed his arm gently. "I'll leave you alone for now, but I'll always be your friend."

He nodded gratefully. "I'm your friend too, but right now I need time alone."

"I very much hope you'll get better soon."

"Thank you." He opened the door for her and waited until she had walked out of the servant's entrance. Then he went to the only place where he would be truly left alone: The wine cellar. Once there he closed the heavy door behind him. It was unlike him to get uncontrollably angry, but he was. Had he been in his pantry, he would have probably thrown everything of his desk and turned the room into a mess, but everyone would have heard him. Instead – for he couldn't dare ruining any of the wine – he screamed; a mighty roar expressing all the anger he felt at having lost Elsie and Tom and Gwen and Becky. The anger that boiled in him at being trapped in this life as butler. His roar echoed from the walls and then he slammed his fist into the wall and roared again. This time for the pain not in his hand, but in his heart. He sank to the floor, holding his right hand that was bleeding and already turning black and blue. How he had not broken it was beyond him. "Elsie", he whispered into the emptiness of the room and banged the back of his head against the wall. Once. Twice. He felt so powerless and defeated. And then he broke into tears again.

…

"Where are you going?", Beryl asked, poking her head out of the kitchen just when he had reached the servant's entrance.

"I need a walk", he explained.

"What about dinner?"

"We have two footmen, don't we?", he pointed out, sounding annoyed.

"What?", she shouted. "Did you really just say that?"

He shrugged. Beryl walked to him, eyeing him suspiciously. "Have you been crying?", she asked quietly when she saw how red his eyes were. Her gaze fell upon his right hand that was holding the door knob. "What happened to your hand?"

"It looks worse than it really is", he told her. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"But dinner…"

"Tell them I'm unwell. They survived nine months without me. Surely they'll get through one dinner", he said and left. He had forgotten his hat and the wind was freeing his hair from the pomade. He didn't mind. When he realised where his legs had carried him he thought he would drop dead from the pain the sight caused him. He looked around. There was Elsie's house and he could hear Tom laughing. His mind was playing tricks on him. He left the path and stepped onto the grass where in decades from now Elsie's house would stand. Closing his eyes it felt like he was back, just for a moment. And then Elsie's face appeared. She looked scared and Charles knew it was a memory of the last moments he had been with her. When he opened his eyes again there was nothing in front of him but the countryside. Tears were running down his cheeks. He dropped to the ground, burying his hands into the earth, thinking that if he remained lying there long enough, he might be free of this torture being without Elsie was.

…

Beryl felt like a fish out of water when she was upstairs, but her worry for Charles made her rush the stairs to the great hall. She was lucky enough to meet Lord Grantham at the bottom of the fancy staircase coming down from the gallery on his way to dinner. "Mrs. Patmore?", the Earl asked beyond surprised to meet his cook in the great hall.

"I'm sorry, milord. I know I shouldn't be here, but I'm worried about Mr. Carson", she explained.

"Oh? Well, he should be in the dining room."

"That is it, milord. He's not in the dining room. He left nearly twenty minutes ago for a walk, telling me I should let the footmen serve dinner. He was very upset."

"Left? And let the footmen serve dinner?", Lord Grantham repeated in shock and then straightened his waistcoat. "That doesn't sound at all like him."

"Exactly that is why I'm worried. Besides he's been not well."

"How so?"

"If I didn't know any better I'd say he's grieving", the Beryl said.

"I think we should send out a searching party", Lord Grantham suggested, now equally worried.

…

The searching party contained not only of all men from the Abbey, but also more than half the village. All over the estate they shouted Charles' last name. In the end, it was once more Henry the hallboy who came to the butler's rescue. "Mr. Carson!" He was running towards the tall lifeless body lying on the ground. "He's over here." Next one to reach them was Dr. Clarkson. "Carson? Carson, can you hear me?", he asked while rolling him onto his back. He slapped the butler and got the response he had hoped for. Charles' eyes fluttered open and both Henry and the doctor thought to see a hint of disappointment flicker in his eyes.

…

The next morning, he was late for the servant's breakfast, but the surprised faces of his colleagues told him that he hadn't been expected downstairs anyway. And then he was face to face with the cook who grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his pantry. "What is wrong with you?", she hissed, once they were alone behind closed doors.

He didn't know what to tell her. His hand was covered in a bandage, he had been found lying on the ground in the middle of nowhere and had not been himself – the self Beryl knew – in weeks. There was only one way to tell her how he felt. "I miss Elsie", he whispered.

"You'll have to let go", Beryl told him.

He shook his head. "I can't. I need her."

"At least try to move on."

"How?"

"You need to say goodbye to her."

"That's impossible."

"Maybe not. You could write a letter."

"There's no guarantee she'll ever receive it", he argued.

"No, but at least you did say goodbye."

"You may be right", Charles admitted. "When did you start believing me?", he asked then.

"I'm not sure I believe you", Beryl answered honestly. "But you are extremely unhappy and as your friend I'd like to help."

"I appreciate that", he whispered.

"I'll leave you to it."

…

It seemed that writing his goodbye to Elsie was what truly ripped his heart apart and made it bleed, but at the same time he had the vague hope that his words would reach her and comfort her at least a little. Explaining to the post master why exactly he should keep a letter to be delivered in a hundred years proofed quite a task, but Charles persuaded him by paying him extra. On his way back to the Abbey he decided that he also needed to say goodbye aloud and the empty land where Elsie's house would stand seemed the place to do so.

…

Elsie almost fainted when she went through her letters and suddenly held an envelope in her hands that was addressed to her in Charles' elegant writing. She had no idea how it had reached her, how it was possible that he had written to her, but he had. She hurried inside and locked herself inside her office. She sat down and took a deep breath. Carefully she opened it and removed the piece of paper folded inside. Her hands were shaking and didn't stop while she read.

My dearest Elsie,

I don't know if this letter ever reaches you, but it's my only chance to say goodbye.

It hurts to be apart from you. And it will hurt for the rest of my life. I don't know if I can learn to live with it. Maybe I could if we had been prepared for this. If we had been able to say goodbye. But I was forced back into my old life and left you without warning. I left you and I am so very sorry for that.

They keep telling me I was unconscious, that I only dreamed, but how could I have possibly dreamed in such detail of things that don't even exist yet? Of people that haven't been born yet, faces I never saw before I stumbled in front of your car. I refuse to believe that it was just a dream. It can't have been. I know it wasn't. You are real, Elsie Burns.

I know you never wanted me to go. And I hope you know that I never wanted to leave. Yet here I am, sitting in my pantry like nothing ever happened. I will have to move on, live this life. But know this: I will never forget you. And not ever stop loving you. I will forever regret not being able to marry you. Regret that I'll never see Gwen and Tom become adults, start their own life. I would have loved to be part of it.

I will cherish the memories we share until I die and wish you every happiness.

Yours

Charlie Carson

…

"I'm sorry, Elsie. I'm sorry for leaving you. I never meant to." He knelt down and let his hand wander over the grass. "I love you, Elsie." He looked up and was a little surprised that he could see the Abbey in the distance. "I will die at Downton Abbey and haunt the place ever after", he whispered, determined to remain strong. Elsie would have wanted him to be strong. And with that he left the place where years from now Elsie would be at home. His heart was broken and remained broken, even if it stopped bleeding. In the end he did die as butler, passing away on a rainy day in October sitting at his desk. As to whether or not he haunted the place ever after only Elsie would know. When the pain of Charles' loss became unbearable she felt his presence like his ghost was there to protect her from the darkness that threatened to take her. And once a year, on the day in April they met, she would visit his grave. This visit cost her all she had each year, for it reopened the wound that time had both caused and healed. Every year she would leave a rose at the foot of his gravestone. A gravestone that kept the existence of a great man with an honourable life and a cruel fate engraved on it:

Here lies

Charles Carson

Butler of Downton Abbey

19th August 1856 - 12th October 1931

Aged 75

But the present depends on the past. There are endless possibilities of what might have happened. This painful ending for Charles and Elsie is one of these possibilities. And so the slightest turn of events back in 1912 may change the course of Charles' and Elsie's future. For their fate depended on one simple decision. A decision that was made just when it seemed it would never be made and that this would be the end of the story...

Originally I did plan to let it end with the inscription on Charles' gravestone, but while writing the story I decided that it shouldn't end like this. There's more to come. I'd appreciate a review :)