Author's note: Good morning, day or night, whatever time this update might reach you, my dearest readers! The past days I've hardly had the time to write and when I have found myself in front of my laptop, I've struggled to make the words work. Nevertheless, I did manage to wrestle up something! The idea for this chapter was given to me by shine-on-down, who requested a "sickfic scenario" on Tumblr! I absolutely love a good sickfic, I admit, and I found myself pondering which way to go — Charlie caring for a sick Elsie or vice versa — and, well, I came to the conclusion that why not both!

I had originally planned to make this very short but, you know me, I steered away from the original path and here we have this not-so-short chapter! And, it might have turned out slightly more angsty than planned but, no worries, it is all sweet and they're happy! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Until next time!

Elsie lifted the whistling kettle off the stove and carefully poured the hot water into the two cups on the wooden tray — one for her and the other for him. Feeling her nose starting to itch, yet another sneeze bubbling under the surface, she reached for her handkerchief from where she had left it on the counter, covering her mouth just in time as she sneezed. She folded the cloth back into her pocket and squeezed her eyes shut, the sudden jolt making her sore head pound some awful for minutes to come and she had to steady herself on the counter for a moment.

It had been like this for days now and Elsie had had about enough of it already. At first, it had been Charles who had caught whatever it was that seemed to be combing through the Abbey and he had taken to his bed with a frighteningly high fever at Elsie's orders. He had barely managed to keep down tea, let alone anything in terms of food, and had spent the following night sprawled on the bathroom floor feeling sick to his stomach and sweating out his fever, with Elsie doing her best to keep him comfortable and trying to get what little sleep she could while doing so. By the following afternoon, she had fallen ill as well but much to her relief she hadn't felt quite as poorly as her husband and seemed to support only a mild case of the flu. However, it wasn't long before she was in bed with a nasty fever too — and a very sore head on top of it — and the cottage had been turned into a convalescent home.

The following days were spent resting in bed, the husband and wife both sick and feeling miserable, with the occasional visit from the doctor or Mrs Patmore who had promised to bring them a food basket — as well as 'get-well-wishes' from staff and family alike — as neither of them was able to make the journey into the village themselves. Mr Barrow, who had luckily gotten over his bout of the flu already, was filling in the absent butler's duties and Anna was doing her best to fill the housekeeper's shoes but, according to Mrs Patmore, she had been complaining of a runny nose as well and with Ms Baxter in bed with a fever herself, things weren't running very smoothly. But with half of the family in bed as well, it hardly mattered. Nevertheless, this was, perhaps, not a very great start to the New Year, Elsie admitted.

She sniffled a bit before she quickly added lemon and honey to the hot mix, a tiny bit of sugar to Charles' one to satisfy his sweet tooth. Luckily he could finally keep down some tea and toast at least, she mused as she walked over to the other end of the room, reaching for the powder that Dr Clarkson had dropped off when he had checked in on them that very morning — something to reduce inflammation, according to the doctor, but the name of the medicine had gone past her completely. Elsie carefully opened the package and poured its contents into two glasses filled with water, closely following Dr Clarkson's instructions, and then placed the two glasses on the tray to take them upstairs with her.

Elsie left the kitchen, shutting the lights while balancing the tray on her hip, and she felt herself yawn as she headed towards the stairs. She had spent the entire day in bed, save from the bath Charles had drawn her a while ago, and yet she was so very weary that she felt like she could easily sleep through the next five days without waking up. The very thought of getting back to bed, under the warmth of the covers and into the waiting arms of her husband, managed to make her smile as she made her way up the stairs. She was halfway up the stairs when she had to stop for a moment, her free hand coming to hold onto the railing as she fought back a wave of dizziness. Her head was killing her and she could not wait to lie down in bed and close her eyes, hoping it would alleviate the pounding and pressure she could feel behind her eyes and between her ears.

When Elsie entered their bedroom, she found him lying down in bed on his back, his eyes closed and a wet towel spread across his forehead. He wasn't sleeping, as she had thought, and slowly opened his eyes as she moved around the bed and placed the tray on her bedside table.

"I've brought some tea and the medicine Dr Clarkson gave us," she told him and set to remove her dressing gown.

"Hm," Charles hummed a reply, his voice quiet and awfully raspy, as he sat up against the headboard and placed the towel from his forehead to the small water basin on his bedside table, "Did you take a powder for your headache?"

"I had meant to but I can't with the medicine, Dr Clarkson said," Elsie kicked off her slippers, slightly shivering in the cold, and slumped down on the mattress as her husband pulled the covers over her.

"Right," he said and cleared his throat, only for it to result in a right coughing fit. The whole bed shook as he coughed and every small nudge sent shocks through her head. Elsie leaned over to hand him his glass of medicine and, grateful, he gulped it down as his coughs finally let out a bit. He gave a face at the bitter taste, "Horrid stuff."

"But helps you get better," his wife said and emptied the other glass and then placed both empty glasses back on the tray. She rested against his side, closing her eyes for a moment. She was so terribly tired. His arm came around her as he placed a gentle kiss on her temple.

"You're burning up still," he whispered, placing a hand to feel her forehead.

"Mhm. I feel terrible," Elsie admitted, sniffing, "Drink the tea, it'll soothe your throat."

His throat would, without a doubt, be tender from all his coughing and the hours he had spent doubled over the toilet and emptying the little contents of his stomach.

"I will once you're tucked under the covers and resting properly, love."

She didn't fight him when he urged her to lie down and pulled the covers up to her neck, making sure she was warm.

"Better?" he asked gently, reaching over to grab a cup of tea from the tray, and leaned back against the headboard.

"A bit. My head feels like it's going to explode," her hand came to rub her forehead, her eyes closed.

"That bad?" Charles hated to see her in pain but there was little he could do for her.

"Drink the tea," she told him again, stern, still rubbing her forehead to bring herself some relief. Charles sipped his tea, its warmth soothing his sore throat, as Elsie continued, "I added honey. Lemon, too."

"It's good."

"Nausea?"

She opened her eyes to inspect him a bit, searching for signs that he was going to be sick, and Charles shook his head at her, took another sip of his tea before speaking, "I don't think so, no. I feel a lot better than I did yesterday."

"I'm glad," his wife mumbled next to him and Charles reached his free hand to pet her damp hair — whether it was from her earlier bath or her excessive sweating because of her high fever, he didn't know. She closed her eyes again, letting her hand fall from where it had been on her forehead next to her on the bed.

"I'm sorry I got you sick, Elsie. I hate seeing you like this."

She smiled weakly, "It's alright. I would've caught it from someone else if not you, no matter what."

"Still, I'm sorry. Sorry that, first, you must see me like this and then get ill yourself while caring for me. You shouldn't need to look after me."

Her hand came to still his in her hair and she guided it to her chest so she could hold it in her smaller one. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, "In sickness and in health, Charlie. I meant it when I took my vows." His fingers curled around hers, his thumb circling the golden band she wore — a small token to prove his love for her.

Charles smiled as he reminisced about their wedding day and the vows they had taken before their friends and employers. And this was just it, in sickness and health, and Charles thought it all rather wonderful — even when they were both feeling less than amazing.

After a moment, Charles reluctantly pushed himself away to place his teacup, now half-empty, on his nightstand. He reached for the towel he had draped over the rim of the water basin a moment ago. He dipped it into the cool water and squeezed the excess water from it before folding it better and bringing it to his wife's forehead, gently so as to not hurt her. She let out a sigh as she felt the cold cloth against her skin, bringing her immediate relief and she closed her eyes to welcome it. Charles felt her settle next to him as he laid down next to her, pulling his pillow down with him so he could rest his head on it properly. He planted a kiss on her cheek, her jawline, anywhere he could reach and pulled her tightly to him. She was burning but so was he and he found himself not caring, wanting to be close to her and offer her as much comfort as he possibly could. Her fingers caressed his arm, slowly exposing a tiny bit of skin from underneath his pyjama sleeve, and she held his hand to her chest, just above her heart.

He was about to fall asleep, listening to her steady heartbeat and feeling the even rise and fall of her chest against his arm, when he heard her voice, barely a whisper, "Thank you for taking such good care of me, Charlie."

He smiled against her hair, "Anytime, Mrs Carson," and nuzzled his nose behind her ear as sleep finally came to claim them both once more.