A/N I did it. I wrote something. Two weeks after Matthew's death they all still deal with the loss - one way or another. The house is changing, the people in it are changing. Mostly Carson/Hughes but other characters will help them on this journey.

Changes - chapter 01

The house is dark now, sleeping. Not peacefully though, not for a long time to come. After all that has happened in the last two weeks he is certain that they will not hear laughter, see them smile or entertain guests for a few months. Too tragic is the loss, too fresh the wounds. It will take a lot of effort and time for them to heal. If they ever heal. From the outside, yes, perhaps, but inside? He does not think so. There will always be the little boy as a reminder of what she has lost.

With a deep sigh that seems to come from some place within his body he did not know exists, somewhere close to his heart, he turns the large iron key inside the front door look three times. The heavy door creaks and squeaks, a small protest. He tucks the massive key away inside the pocket of his tailcoat but it sticks out a bit, like an open fracture, a broken bone that has penetrated the skin. The image is gruesome and he shakes his head vigorously to make it disappear. But there is some truth in it. The house is slowly dying. First Lady Sybil, now Mr Crawley. Both lost too early, before their time, too young to leave this world. He sighs again, rubs his temples with thumb and index finger. He has to stop thinking about it, stop conjuring up images like these.

Charles picks up the hand lamp, turns away from the front door, silently walks across the large hall, his footfall muffled by the thick carpets. He looks up to the gallery. The lights are out, all doors closed. Behind them they are trying to fall asleep, trying to avoid the nightmares and the worries, the silent tears. Another thought he has to banish immediately.

He has reached the door to the downstairs quarters, which is hidden from view underneath the large central staircase. He takes the steps one by one, slowly descending to a place that is still the same after all the drama upstairs. They haven't lost someone this time, they go on as usual, albeit their faces are also sorrowful and glum. The lively chatter, so inseparably connected with the kitchen and the servant's hall, is subdued nowadays. But they carry on. It is not the first master they have lost (although this is only true for him, Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore, but still).

The hand lamp guides him the way to his pantry, now dark and cold, the fire long extinguished. He stores the key away and closes the two open ledgers that lie on his desk. His working day is finally over, he has managed to come through it once more without suffering a breakdown. Sometimes he thinks that is has been enough now, that he should hand over his life's work to some one else. The world is not the same any more; the house has changed so much. Only a few constants have survived but he is slowly losing those too. From next door, her room, he can hear how the legs of a chair scrape across the floor. She is still up, one of his constants, the most reliable and precious one. And he sighs a third time, because Mrs Hughes is waiting for him again, has done so every night since they had the news. She stays up longer than usual to wish him good night, see him up the stairs until they part for their separate bedrooms. Tonight won't be any different.

Charles cannot deny it that he enjoys finishing the day together with her but it also pains him to see her suffer for and with him. He does not want to be a burden. At the same time he is not able to stop her. She has always cared for him, took charge when he was not well, nursed him back to health. He extinguishes the lamp and closes the door to his pantry before he walks the few steps down the corridor towards her sitting room. One short knock and the door is opened from the inside. She must have heard him too.

"You're up late again," he scolds but with a warm smile on his face. "You don't have to wait for me, Mrs Hughes."

She touches his arm, lets her hand linger for a moment as if to make sure he is really there and not just an illusion. "But I want to. You shouldn't be the only one up after everyone else has gone to bed. Some one has to take care of you just like you take care of the house. Allow me to do that for you."

They exchange the same words, not exactly but similar, every night. What is new, is her hand on his arm. The warmth of her fingers, that seem to penetrate the fabric of his sleeve and shirt right down to his skin. And for the first time in two weeks his answer to her plea is different. "I'd like that very much."

#xxx#

She cannot hide her smile any longer, or let go of his arm. He has finally agreed to her offer. She has been so worried, for weeks! Ever since the day they had gotten the message from Dr Clarkson. First he had been happy, overwhelmed, like a father or better, grandfather. A new born child, a son, an heir! His precious Lady Mary was all right, the wee babe strong and healthy. Then, an hour later, his world shattered when the second phone call from the hospital came in. Elsie had found him in his pantry, standing there with the receiver still in his hand, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

Dead, Mr Crawley was dead. She had wanted to hold him, comfort him, and stroke his back soothingly, like she did with her homesick housemaids and lovestruck footmen. But she could not cross that line. So she starts to be there for him, in a way he cannot avoid her, cannot complain about that she is breaking the rules and acting against all propriety. She stays up late because of him. Makes sure he goes to bed after he has finished his rounds. He is tired, more than ever before (he would never admit it). But Elsie can see it, in his eyes, his steps are slower, the back is not as straight as usual, his shoulders are sagged.

Carson stands in front of her now, a smile on his lips and her hand on his arm. It is the closest thing to an embrace for them. Perhaps the day will come when they allow this to happen. For now, this is enough.

"Come then, let's go to bed, find some sleep." She ushers him out of her room, turns off the electric light and closes the door behind them. Her hand is still on his arm and she startles a bit when she feels one of his strong hands over it and give it a gentle squeeze. Yet they let go as soon as they reach the stairs. He walks behind her, while Elsie leads the way. The house is dark around them, almost no sounds are audible. Creaking steps, her heels on the stone floor between staircases, his breath, the rustle of her skirt. They pass the backstairs of the first floor, behind the nursery where two children sleep now. Children that will grow up without a father and a mother, one parent is missing for both of them, forever.

She stops when the thought hits her and he must have realized the same, for he catches up but does not walk on. Instead he stays close behind her, their bodies almost touching. His front and her back, their hands rest inches apart on the railing. Elsie holds her breath, listens for any sounds, but the children are quiet and he is too. When she exhales, so does Carson, in unison with her. They should walk on, climb the last two stairs to their bedrooms, but she cannot move, is rooted to the spot, does not want to ruin this moment which suddenly has turned into something wonderful instead of being a reminder of what they have lost (Mr Crawley, Lady Sybil. Too young). She has completely forgotten about the children, it is only the two of them now.

He takes another step, obviously thought she was about to move on. His hand covers hers and his back is pressed against her. He is so warm and solid, feels so perfect against her. Elsie wants to stay like this forever but knows they can't. They are only out of sync for a split second before she extracts her hand and steps away with a sigh. The moment is over, the chance they had lost, but not entirely wasted.

A few minutes later they have to part for the night. "Sleep well." She does not touch him again. It has been enough for one evening. What she offers him is a smile instead. "Don't worry too much", she adds.

"I'll try. Good night." He turns around and leaves her standing there on the landing in the darkness.

Thank you for reading. TBC. It would be very kind and helpful if you could leave a review. (and a PM if there are any horrible typos!)