A/N: November was filled with one-shots for NaNoWriMo and I am editing all the Carson/Hughes fics and putting them up here. Reviews and commentary are very much appreciated, so don't hesitate!

Warning: Alternate Universe!

They are not used to taking their time. Normally they rushed things, hiked up her skirt, unbutton his trousers, push aside underwear. Moved almost painfully against each other against a wall, over a table or sink. The use of a bed is unusual, foreign.

She thinks it is the first time they have seen each other completely naked. She now knows he has a small scar just above his left hipbone. He is now aware a corset pushes and pulls your figure in a certain shape that isn't entirely your own.

She has touched the skin of his upper arms, he has dipped his finger in her navel. After years of quick romps that only required arousal and a sense of adventure and disregard for the rules, they have done it in a bed.

Their own bed.

She had not thought this day would come. She had thought perhaps one day she would be promoted, become housekeeper. He would easily have made it to butler. He has an amazing eye for detail. She has the gift of being able to always see the bigger picture.

She turns, her thighs slightly sore from the pounding they were not used to, feels his arm snake around her middle. Unlike what they are used to, the bed gives them ample opportunity to fall asleep after.

After what?

She is allowed to call it 'making love', but the words sound strange. She's not accustomed to them.

He tells her he loves her frequently and she smiles, feels warmed by it, but doesn't respond. Not even when he asked her to marry him and she didn't hesitate to accept him. For she does, she loves him so much, saying the word seems futile.

He lets out a shuddering breath and she reaches around him to push the covers around his sleeping form. Everything is so different now. When they wake up in the morning, they will make their own breakfast after only dressing themselves. They have a week of uninterrupted peace and quiet before he starts in the offices of the warehouse of the tea shipping company.

When he told her he was thinking of leaving service, she didn't believe him. He leaned on the system, on the way you could climb the ranks up to be the highest there is by sheer hard work and a big enough house. He had once told her if she was Housekeeper and he was Butler, they could visit each other in their respective parlour and pantry, drink leftover wine.

Feel each other up.

She had chuckled with his confession, knowing there was more to them than that.

"Will you come with me?" He had asked when he had told her he had written to Mr Leonard and she had smiled. "If you get hired, I will come with you." She had said, thinking it was unlikely he would beat out the other men who would have much more experience.

Perhaps his Lordship had put in a good word for him. Perhaps he was just the right man at the right place. She didn't strike off either possibility.

He formally asked her to marry him, she said 'yes' without reservations. She knew he had a stubborn streak, a devotion to the rules, to how things were supposed to be done. That he could unwittingly say the harshest of words. But he was also compassionate, caring. Behind the correct and unfeeling surface burnt a passionate heart.

She had skulked around the kitchens, trying to make mental notes on how to cook some of the simpler food, the food served in the Servants' Hall so she wouldn't be all thumbs when she was supposed to make dinner for the pair of them.

They were married at the church, a few of the other servants in attendance. Mr Jarvis, the butler, had been upset with the pair of them. His Lordship had frowned at him, her Ladyship had called her in to ask her if she was really sure.

She was.

A life outside, a civilian's life, it would not be easy, she understood that. Her parents were farmers, she knew about hard work and dedication. Charles was strong and hardworking. They would make it, she was sure of it. They would keep a household account book and set aside some money every week for eventualities.

Things would be fine.

The one thing she was a bit worried about was living in a city. She had never lived in a city before. The thought of being surrounded by people stifled her, but she supposed she would get used to that too, when Charles came to her one evening, telling her he had found a place for them to live on the outskirts of the city. A small cottage, with a garden. He would get a bicycle to quicken his commute.

Now she was in that cottage. They had painted all the walls, bought furniture with their combined savings and after a small celebration in the Grantham Arms, they had left to the station, got on the train and found their way to their new home with a suitcase each filled with civilian clothes and a carpet bag full of presents.

He had put down his suitcase, opened the door and carried her over the threshold. They had taken off their coats and looked at each other. She was sure he could see she was quite ready to be ravished. For days she had tried to find a moment for them to get together, but they had been chaperoned as closely as the eldest daughter of an Earl.

He had laughingly followed her to their bedroom and they had undressed each other, careful not to crease their clothes. His new suit was going to have much wear in it, she was glad they had opted to pay a little more for it. Her dress would from now on be her Sunday best. Next week they would be going to a new church, face a whole new congregation. But at least they would be together.

She snuggles up closer and his arm tightens around her, his thumb stroking her skin. His steady breathing lulls her into a deep sleep.

Life as a civilian was different. When she woke up, it was still dark and she couldn't quite believe she didn't have to get up, even after being married for a few months now. They had gotten into a routine where they would wake up before the alarm and make love sleepily, just to feel close to each other since there would be no way they could see each other during the day.

For her it was the biggest change: not running into him on the stairs as she'd go up with freshly ironed linen or on the landing after turning down the beds. She made them breakfast every day and a lunch for him - sandwiches with yesterday's leftovers, an apple and some biscuits or a piece of pie leftover from Sunday afternoon.

She went about her day slowly, getting their little house ready took her less than an hour each day. She went to the market for fruit and vegetables, the grocery store for the rest. She took her washing to a woman who took in laundry and picked it up again. She chatted with her neighbour and sometimes invited her over for a cup of tea or was invited herself.

From the chair in another woman's kitchen she saw how charmed her life was.

Having a husband who comes home straight after work was a novelty almost. As was getting his pay without a penny missing every Friday evening. Having a husband who only went for one pint on Wednesday at the local, because on Wednesday there's a game of cards he enjoys playing. She learns she has to be thankful he never lays a hand on her, never makes demands on her. He doesn't hurt her in any way.

He has his flaws, as does she. He hangs on to tradition, she can get quite temperamental at times. But they know this, from themselves and the other. They work together well, they are compatible, learn to deal with habits they had no previous knowledge of and find they have made the right decision by getting married, leaving Downton. He enjoys his work, finds the tedium soothing, enjoys cracking the numbers into manageable pieces. He receives frequent praise from his superiors. It's not long until he receives a small raise, then another one. Is promoted to a higher position.

She learns how to cope with her impatience, tries to keep upbeat. She finds she misses her old life more than he does. Hers is emptier than his. She starts writing letters to her old workmates, her sister, her cousins more frequently. Starts a diary that turns into a confessional. She worries there might be something wrong with her.

Their first anniversary comes and goes. Then the second. The third. He leaves in the morning after a kiss goodbye and comes home with another kiss. He wraps his arms around her, tells her things will be alright. He takes her worries seriously. He loves her. She loves him.

One day, midwinter has come and gone, they have celebrated Christmas with a tiny pudding and a roasted chicken, have seen in a new year, drumming on pots and pans, running into the streets, kissing their neighbours, shaking hands, drinking gin and ale. She then decides to stay far away from drink, knowing full well it dulls her senses, makes her feel good, makes her forget her pain and disappointment. Until it doesn't.

Then the day comes when she finally says she loves him.

He finds her, crying in the empty room upstairs, heaving sobs, tears are staining her cheeks, drip from her cheeks and chin on her dress.

"I understand." He says, putting his arms around her loosely.

"I know..." She hiccups in response.

"I will always love you, my sweet. Always. Even if..." His voice trails off. She knows. He loves her for her, not for her implications. Even though her heart is breaking, even though she is a failure.

"I love you..." She whispers.

He wipes away the new tears that are falling away from her cheeks, kisses her again and again. Frantically she kisses him back, pushes him against the wall of the hall, unbuttons his trousers as he hikes up her skirt. She pushes down his underwear, unwilling to wait any longer, her pain and her grief urging her on, she wants him close, impossibly close. He pulls at the strings of her knickers and they drop to the floor, she kicks them aside, lets him hoist up her leg and he pushes inside her without preliminaries. He thrusts in a steady rhythm, she moans, thinks back on how they used to do this in dark halls, the airing cupboard and when he kisses her just under her jawline, she comes, shuddering, screaming, crying.

He spills himself inside of her after a few more thrusts, his brow is sweaty, his knees are buckling under her weight. They are no longer used to quick romps in secret places. She lets him slip out of her, feels his residue leak down her thighs. He pulls up his underwear and buttons his fly, bends over to pick up her knickers, hands them to her. She smiles. She knows her eyes are red and her face might be puffy, but he has just given her exactly what she needed: an outlet and a solid token that he still finds her attractive, still wants her after all these years.

For now it will have to do. She will take care of him and herself to the best of her abilities and find ways to deal with her sorrow. She knows she will find a way. She is strong, stronger than most. She doesn't give up hope, not exactly, but she stops expecting anything. It makes her tread lighter, helps making friends easier. She welcomes new couples into the neighbourhood. He gets promoted again.

She still loves him so deeply and he tells her he will never stop loving her. She hangs on to that as she makes love to him in the early morning and kisses him as he comes home in the evening. They will defy Mr Jarvis' angry words. They will make it through all their difficulties.

And they did.