Based on speculation regarding Series 3 Episode 3. Spoilers of course. Don't read if you don't want that.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, Mrs. Hughes brilliant storyline would have included a bed in a small inn on the coast and a certain stuffy butler. The only lumps would be the ones in her pillow.

Mr. Carson had brought his plan to fruition with ease. A part of him would have preferred to remain ignorant, but a much larger part of him needed desperately to know what was wrong with his housekeeper. At times it was incredibly annoying how stupid everyone apparently thought he was. How on earth did they think he'd ever become butler? Poisoning old Jerkyns? At other times, he found it incredibly useful. This instance had been one of those times. He shook his head at how easily Mrs. Patmore had fallen for his ruse. He'd merely had to pretend that he already knew everything, even more than she did, and she'd broken down and revealed the whole secret. Poor woman. She was worried sick about Mrs. Hughes and grateful for someone to share her burden. He would gladly take the burden of worrying about his housekeeper completely away from the cook.

Now, though, he was facing a slightly more difficult task. Somehow, he needed his housekeeper to allow him to help her. To that end, he had already spoken with Lady Grantham about shifting a few of her tasks subtly to him. She had been puzzled, but nevertheless had agreed. Now all he had to do was wait for the storm. Pulling his watch from his pocket, he glanced at the time. She should be here within the next quarter hour at least. He wound his watch carefully, and then settled back with hands tented in front of him, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, and eyes closed to wait for her to arrive.

The door burst open, and he sat up quickly. Plucking his watch from the table, he glanced at the time. Sixteen minutes. She was getting slower. He hoped that wasn't a bad sign.

"Mr. Carson," she was speaking in her quietest and most controlled voice, a voice that normally had him quaking inside, but now secretly gave him hope.

He rose so that he could use his height to his advantage, "You wish to speak to me, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I do," she said and his attention was drawn to her face, the faint shadows under her eyes, the tightness around her mouth that he doubted was due entirely to her anger. Perhaps he was as stupid as everyone thought to have missed those signs for so long.

He lifted an eyebrow at her, "Would you like to stand as you berate me or will you at least sit?"

Her mouth had already been open no doubt ready to scold him, but she shut it quickly. He had thrown her off balance. Good. He needed every advantage to achieve his goal.

"I will sit if you wish," she nodded sharply. He didn't miss how grateful she seemed to be to sink down into the chair.

"Would you care for some water or a little tea?" he asked, walking to the side table to pour himself a glass of water.

She narrowed her eyes at him, obviously wondering what he was about. "No. I would prefer to say what I have to say."

"Then please do so, Mrs. Hughes," he spoke softly before settling down in the chair facing her with his hand on his knee. He fixed his gaze on her face to watch for the perfect opportunity.

"You spied on me," she stated flatly.

"I did," he admitted, again bringing her up short.

She paused for a moment, and he could see that his plan was going to work, maybe. "You had no right."

"I did not," he agreed.

Her mouth dropped open, and she watched him with a puzzled frown. After a moment, she swallowed, "May I have a glass of water now, please?"

"Certainly," he stood and crossed to the table. When he handed her the glass of water, he stretched out his finger to brush the back of her knuckles. Her hand jumped, but she didn't spill a drop of the water. Seeing that she had herself under control again, he settled back down in the chair.

"Why then?" she asked softly, eyes fixed on the glass in her hands.

This moment was the key one. He gathered his courage and looked at her steadily, willing her to meet his eyes. She did not so he spoke his words to the top of her head, "The person that I hold most dear in the world is in pain. I needed to know why."

Her eyes squeezed shut and he could hear the waver of her voice, "Oh Charles, why now? Why not…"

He cut her off, "Why not twenty years ago, or ten, or five, or even one? I don't have a proper answer. All I know is that I cannot let you face this alone."

"So you butt in, insert yourself in my life?" she asked; temper showing again, "What if I want to face this alone?"

"That is your right, I suppose," he answered quietly, "But I would still suffer."

"Charles," she began, "I didn't want you to…."

His own temper flared now, "Do you think I am a child, Elsie?"

"No, I…" she said, meeting his eyes again.

He cut her off with a wave of his hand, "Because I can assure you that I am most certainly a man, fully capable of taking care of those he lo…cares for deeply."

"I know that you are a man, Charles," she said, "But it is still my burden to carry. You have no right."

"I know that I have no right," he nearly whispered, eyes dropping from hers to study the floor.

She sighed, "Then if I promise to keep you informed will you…"

The decision that he had been making all day solidified in his mind, and he looked up from the floor to meet her eyes. His resolve must have shown because her words trailed off. When she was looking into his eyes in wonder he spoke, "I want that right," and then to clarify he added with his chin jutting out, "I am asking for that right."

She looked at him carefully again, eyes questioning his statement. He met her inquiring look with what he hoped was the clear answer of his commitment.

"Because I am ill?" she asked.

"We don't know that yet. The results aren't back," he said, already appropriating her burden as his own.

Her lip quirked up in a half smile, "That's not what you told Mrs. Patmore."

"Yes, well," he stumbled a little, slightly embarrassed by his deception, "That was necessary."

"Necessary to deceive one of your oldest and dearest friends?" she asked, eyebrow lifted.

He met her eyes again solemnly, "Not my dearest friend, Elsie. There is only one person who I have ever considered that."

Her eyes dropped from his, and she shook her head. He could tell that she was deciding to come at the problem from a different angle. That was good. Every angle had been examined in the minutest detail over the past few hours, and he had come to his conclusion. He was nothing if not thorough and orderly in his thoughts.

"Friendship is not a proper basis for such a commitment," she said so softly he could almost imagine he had not heard her.

"I disagree," he said, feeling more and more that he was on firmer footing. She was considering the possibility. That was half the battle won as far as he was concerned. "To be friends, partners even, seems the very best basis for a permanent commitment."

"But what about," she paused, and he did not jump in but allowed her the time to be comfortable with the word, "love."

And there it was. The one word that had occupied most of his thoughts this afternoon. If he was truthful with himself, it had occupied his thoughts since their argument of a few weeks ago when he'd begun to be suspicious, perhaps even longer than that.

"Yes, what about love?" he whispered hoarsely, "If I loved you I suppose my heart would be tearing in two at the thought of your suffering for even one moment. If I loved you I would likely be barely able to breathe at the thought of losing you. If I loved you I would want you for my wife no matter the risk, and I would be willing to risk losing the regard of my dearest friend for the right to stay with you to the very end, either for you or for me."

"I see," she said, swallowing hard and eyes still locked with his. "You are a very stubborn man."

"Very," and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. They had been sitting opposite each other in the chairs, and he suddenly realized that the separation might not be appropriate for the answer he had begun to feel was possible. He dropped to one knee by her chair and let his hand rest on the arm beside her elbow. S he released her clenched hands and dropped one to brush her fingertips over his knuckles.

"You will make life very difficult," she said, smile tugging at her mouth as well.

"Very," he agreed and turned his hand over to grasp her fingers.

"And very interesting."

"Very," he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek.

"And very exciting," she whispered before turning her head to press her lips to his.

"Very," he nodded and pressed his lips a little harder to hers, opening his mouth so that he could trace her lips with the tip of his tongue.

"I must see the doctor tomorrow to get my results," she said, pulling away slightly.

"I will come with you," his hand clasping hers tighter.

She nodded and squeezed his hand in return, "You would have that right."

Reviews are welcome as always. So is a happy ending for Charles & Elsie on the show if JF happens to read this fic.