I'm not able to complete unfinished or write new multichapter fics at the moment (Boo, RL!).

However, there are Chelsie thoughts that build up and have to get out. Please consider this an area where sometimes related, sometimes not-related Chelsie ficlets and drabbles will be posted. I'll try to prompt for S6 spoilers, and timing as I can.

Ficlet: Work-Life Balance

Timing note: mid-S6 or beyond (which is as certain as my married-Chelsie predictions can be). I just wrote this, so excuse any errors (or alert me if they're rather glaring). Thanks X

They were ensconced in their shared quarters after another long day of serving the Granthams. Their bedroom was small but cozy, which is where Elsie Carson could be found lounging in their bed. Her back was against her propped-up pillow as she attempted to re-read a novel with as neutral as a facade as she could muster. Before her, Charles Carson wore the carpet with his bare feet. He had swapped his livery for his night clothes. And he passed back and forth from his chest of drawers and their en-suite in between brushing his teeth and removing the brilliantine from his greying hair.

An avid reader, she could speedily work her way through a book without losing sight on the fine prose, the subtle plot developments. But that was before she married Charles Carson. Instead, she hid behind her raised book, however slightly, as the nightly show of the hithering and thithering amused her to distraction from her book.

But the show had finally ceased for the evening. He trekked once more to the bathroom to fill his requisite glass of water he secured each night on his bedside table. And so Elsie Carson returned her focus to the novel safely in her small but capable hands.

A shy smile signaled her anticipation of what had become her favorite part of the day. The evening had long since been that time, but the particular moment to come quickly became the apex of it all. But she still kept to the prose upon the thick page her fingers traced before turning it.

A shadow soon grew upon the parchment and the bed dipped to her left under the weight of her husband. Elsie Carson did nothing to hide her growing smile even as she squinted to make out the words on the page. Every day it was a moment of spellbinding clarity - rivaling how her ring caught the brilliance of a ray of sun peeking out from the clouds - that they were finally wed.

And then her husband spoke, reminding her that they were still the same people, that they were individuals with separate but related responsibilities. Or, so she thought.

"Did Miss Baxter inform you that her ladyship is expecting Lady Malcolm for tea tomorrow?"

"She did. Though, Mrs. Patmore had already gone upstairs when I learned of it. I'll let her know tomorrow morning."

The bed rolled a bit as her husband got comfortable. She could see in the periphery that he didn't retrieve his own half-read novel.

"Isn't she visiting her cottage tomorrow to check on the renovations?"

She sighed at that, looking up to glance unfocused at her dresser across the room.

"Then, I'll let Daisy know of her ladyship's plans."

She returned her focus to the book, but it was hard to ignore the bulk of a man beside her.

"I wonder about her, Mrs. Patmore. Those tradesmen might not pay her any mind at all when it comes to doing good work."

She smiled at his concerns but doubted his conclusions. Another page was turned.

"I think Mrs. Patmore is uniquely qualified to not let anyone, let alone a tradesman, march over her. I shudder to think what happened the last time the grocer delivered the wrong order and then insisted she shouldn't be so choosy."

She could hear as much as feel his low chuckle directed her way. She grew intrigued when the melodious sound cut off abruptly.

But she needn't have said a word nor glanced in his direction, for her husband had become quite fixated - on her.

The sound of her quick inhale was loud in their quiet room. But she savored its stillness, for she could feel and see and hear her husband's prominent nose gently nudging the curve of her shoulder. His breath steadily warmed the chilled skin left exposed by her sleeveless nightgown.

His lips were moistened by his requisite bedside water, bless it, and she quickly forgot the novel she held in her hands. It closed with a muted thud as his lips began a slow, languid trail towards the base of her neck.

Every thought fell away, leaving her only the feelings that pleasure brought. That is, until he spoke again.

Muffled, rumbling, vibrating within her, she heard him remark, "Perhaps you're right. But I would confirm with her ladyship tomorrow after breakfast."

Her only reply was a sighing hum. Her chin tilted upwards, arrested only by the top of the headboard behind her. And still, his progress - of warm breaths, and soft lips - never wavered.

And now his hands began to follow his lips, only to find more exposed skin to skate across with a light but evocative touch down to her delicate wrists.

"A wine delivery should be due after luncheon tomorrow, as well. Please send Andrew for me if I'm still upstairs?"

She breathed heavily, but he could not discern if it was any kind of response to his request. His growing, cheshire smile was hidden in the crook of her neck. And so he sought once more to confirm her understanding.

His nose grazed along the graceful lines of her neck until he finally arrived at her ear. Before nipping slightly at her ear, he asked in a whisper, "Will you, darling?"

She pulled back swiftly - not by the painful pleasure, but by a realization that finally dawned.

"How can you do that," she insisted with widened eyes.

"How can I do what?" His confusion appeared to be genuine, but the tips of his ears were red, as was his neck.

"How can you do that," she pressed while staring at his lips and waving her hand in the air between them, "and talk about the house as if nothing else was going on?"

For a split second he thought she was furious, and life seemed to be fleeting for a moment. But there was an awestruck look in her eyes and he ventured forward with a slightly defiant tone.

"Are you telling me you cannot?"

Her head tilted slightly away, in disbelief at the mischievous light beginning to glow in his eyes.

"If that's how you intend to make requests of my assistance with your wine shipments, then you should not expect any reliable assistance in the future."

He set his sails in their freeing, breezy exchange.

"Is this your way of telling me that now we're married, I can't be sure of your support?"

As her eyes darted away while her tongue darted to her lips, he waited for her retort.

"Butlers marrying housekeepers - did you not think the whole household would do anything but descend into untenable chaos?"

Her words mocked him, but her darkened eyes told him the real story.

"It's a chance I'm willing to take," he declared as his concentration refocused on her parted lips.

She could not argue with his logic, as it was one more chance that brought mischief and magic to their shared life.

Later, their bedclothes were dislodged and pleasant exhaustion was about to give way to slumber.

She could feel the strength of his hand weaken as sleep began to overcome him. But, it clenched once more with feeling when he heard her whisper in the darkness.

"Lady Malcolm favors lemon. I'll have Daisy think up a new treat for her. You can be her taster."

The only response she received was a sigh and a warm hand gently squeezing the bare curve of her shoulder. She smiled into her pillow before her eyelids blissfully shuttered closed for the night.

I'd love to know your thoughts! Please share if you have the time. Cheers!