Downton Abbey Jack Frost Nipping At Your Nose

**A/N: **This came from a conversation with _**heliotrope-dreams**_ on tumblr who was talking about a certain scene in _Call The Midwife_ with Peter and Chummy and she mentioned how she wanted that to happen with Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, and I'd *just* rewatched the scene and well…this was the result.

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**Jack Frost Nipping At Your Nose**

Standing; dripping, her arms wrapped tight around young master George's shoulders, she takes a moment — between the shivering, the chattering of her teeth, the fervent thanks to whoever might have been watching over them today — to simply breathe.

Nanny has hurried off to fetch help, blankets and towels too she hopes and Elsie gathers George in as close as she can, rubs her hands up and down his back to warm him, to calm him.

He whimpers into her neck, sounds he hasn't made since he was a wee thing, still able to fit in the crook of her elbow.

"Now, master George, it's okay, you're okay."

She is soaked and freezing. Her hair drips cold water down the back of her dress and at some point between the lake and this bank she lost feeling in her toes.

Still, she _is_ thankful that she walked this way today. That the memories and thoughts she usually pushes aside were strong enough this afternoon to control the path her feet took.

She hasn't been this way in over nine months. Not since she retired, walked through these grounds on her way to her new home; the cottage — _their_ cottage as it was — her bag in her hand, her cases already sent on in the car.

She has so many memories of this lake already, quiet moments where she watched the water, the fish jumping and tried to gather herself, throwing that God awful contraption of Mr Bates' off the bank, sitting with Mr Carson on a cloth, enjoying sandwiches and conversation beneath the sun, talking of the cottage, retirement, what might be — without ever really saying anything about it at all.

And now she will remember the splash, Nanny's scream, George's muffled shouts. The way the water frothed up around him as he panicked, too small for his feet to touch the ground and unable to swim. And Nanny had stood there, white and utterly useless.

Her coat is a little ways off, and Elsie makes to step away to gather it, finds herself held fast by little and surprisingly strong arms.

With a huff, she lifts the lad up, stumbles just once as he wraps his legs around her waist. He is too old for this, too big. But he has had a bad scare and she'll offer him all of the comfort he seems to require. At least until his mother arrives.

Reaching for her thrown coat is awkward, but worth the creaking joints and aching muscles for the extra heat it provides when she wraps it loosely about their shoulders, tucks it tight around George's side so it stays in place.

She feels as though if she sits, she'll have trouble getting back up again so even with her muscles trembling she remains standing, clutching the young master.

She wonders what Mr Carson would say if he could see her, but quickly shakes the thought away. Neither of them have the right to say anything anymore, she saw to that. First by leaving and then…

Well, his letter said that he understands her words, the harshness of her tone but she cannot believe that. Not with the things she said to him, how she pushed him so firmly away {she had been hurt, though, heartbroken that after everything he could still put the Family, Lady Mary above _them_ and a future they'd begun to plan for. He'd said he couldn't leave until Lady Mary was married again, happy and settled. He had wrapped a hand around her wrist and asked her to wait, one year, two at most and something had snapped. How long, honestly, did he expect her to wait for him, when she was already retired? How many years did he imagine he had left to give anyone, if he continued to run himself ragged picking up after the Crawleys? It had been the worst fight they'd had in some time, made all the more awful by the quiet tone of his resignation, how slowly his steps had been walking away from the cottage when everything was said.

She had wanted to call him back immediately. To fall into the circle of his arms and promise to wait as long as it took for him to feel free enough to join her. But she's stubborn, her greatest fault and while her words could have been kinder, her tone less final, she _had_ meant the sentiment behind them; she hadn't been sure that she had that much wait left in her, that she could bear it if he died in harness before they ever had a life together.

Better to end it then, cut any of the rather nebulous promises they had made}.

She does wonder, though, if his letter was honest, if they really could return to where they were before that fight.

It has been eight months and her heart hasn't let him go; she can't imagine that it ever will. What has she gained, really, by shutting him out? Would it hurt any more if there was hope for a future they might not reach?

A dog barks making her jump, His Lordship's new pup bounding across the grounds ahead of the small rescue party.

She bounces George on her hip, encourages him to look to where his mother can be seen running to him.

"There now, Master George. We'll soon be warm and cosy back at the house."

The boy smiles, lips rather less blue than they had been, and snuggles his head back beneath her chin. "Thank you Mrs Hughes."

She breathes in a shaky breath, full of little boy, lake water and that familiar sent of the Abbey.

She could have died today, jumping in the lake after the lad. She can hardly swim better than he can and if the water had been even a few degrees cooler she wouldn't have had the control to gather him up and drag them both to the bank. She still would have dived in though, still would have tried even if she had known she would be unsuccessful. Still would have hoped she could make a difference somehow, could not have stood by and just watched.

She can hear His Lordship now and Lady Mary. Her teeth are chattering, she's so cold she really has lost all feeling in her hands and feet now. But she smiles, tips her face into George's hair to hide it.

_She would not have given up_. Perhaps she needs to change just what her stubbornness is applied to.

\- x - x - x -

She jumped into the lake.

He has been pacing his pantry since Barrow came down with the news. It was too late by then for him to join the party going out to the lake and so he had listened to every word spoken, every assurance given that she was alive and no worse for wear than could be expected. That Master George was safe, likely a little shaken but safe.

What had she been thinking, jumping in like that? What had she even been doing by the lake in the first place? She hasn't been near the Abbey in months, he knows. Why would she choose today? Had she been coming to see him, known he had a half day {she wrote up the schedules for years, she knows when he takes his days, she wouldn't have expected him to change it with her retirement}?

Charles drops into his seat, slumps over the desk. _Had_ she been coming to see him? He has given her space, kept to her wishes. He passes the cottage when he goes into the village and he can't stop himself from looking, but he never sees her. Never knocks on the door. He wrote his piece but he had not expected a response, she had been clear; she couldn't wait any longer.

{He can't honestly say he blames her; he's a fool, he could have married her a year ago, could now be cuddled up in front of a fire in their sitting room, happy with her in his arms. But he had promised Lady Mary at Lady Rose's wedding, had said that he would not leave her as Mr Branson and Mr Blake had been doing, not until she no longer needed his support.}

He has no idea if she is happy, has tried hard not to ask Mrs Patmore how she is doing, he doesn't want to hear that she has found someone, someone who will cherish her without making her wait, who won't make her feel like she comes second, third {her voice had broken, she bit her lip and looked away. He hadn't been able to say much after that}.

And now she is on the grounds again.

"Mr Carson?"

He jumps at her voice, looks up to see her leaning against the door frame, coat pulled tight around her. "Mrs Hughes!"

He stands, takes in the sight of her; her cheeks flushed a bright pink and her hair completely loose, falling in wet tendrils around her neck.

"May I come in Mr Carson?" He blinks, nods quickly and swings an arm out wide to invite her in. She shuts the door behind her, the click of the lock echoing in the room.

She takes a seat in a chair by the fire, her back almost to him and leans forward, holding her hands out towards the flames.

He considers joining her {he considers sitting beside her, slipping his arms around her, warming her with his own heat, kissing her hair and thanking the Lord that she is okay} but he isn't sure where they stand, whether they are on their way back to friends, former colleagues or the _something more_ that they were working towards before. He stays where he is behind his desk and tries not to notice how she flinches at the creak of his chair when he settles back down.

Silence reigns for several minutes, not the comfortable silences they have often shared, but one filled with half formed sentences, unfinished thoughts.

"I've missed you, Mr Carson." She says eventually, her voice low but firm. She doesn't turn from the fire so doesn't see how he leans forward, hands clasped tightly together in his lap. "I know that's my own fault and that I have no right to say it, but I have."

"You've every right, Mrs Hughes, if you'll permit me to say that I have missed you as well."

She does turn then, meets his eyes with her own. They're glittering in the flickering light - blue crystals - and he really has missed her.

"Have you, Mr Carson?"

He nods, swallows. Her voice has lowered, the brogue deepened. He has always loved the way his name sounds coming from her lips.

"Do you think we might begin again?"

She looks hopeful, worried. He hasn't seen her this vulnerable since Anna was arrested.

This is the chance, he has long forgiven her words that evening, has had months now to consider what he would say if she ever gave an indication that her affections have not shifted from him.

Seeing her here now, none of his practiced words seem quite right.

"No." He says instead, hurries on as her features drop, her eyes fill. "I don't want to start again, Mrs Hughes. You were right that we're getting older, you and I. I don't think I have time to begin our dance all over again."

He thinks she might be holding her breath as he continues. "I was a fool, Mrs Hughes, to expect you to wait for me any—"

"I would have waited." She interrupts, her words in direct contradiction to everything she said that night. "I will wait. Mr Carson I was angry that night. I thought you'd chosen the Family over _us_ and I lashed out."

"I hurt you." He says, wants to reach out and touch her, but there is a desk and a lifetime of space between them. "I never meant to do that."

"You did, but that doesn't excuse my hurting you back." She stands, makes her way across his pantry to the desk. "I wanted to take it all back the moment I said it, Mr Carson, you have to believe that. But I couldn't bring myself to and I think I hurt us both all over again. Do you think you can forgive me?"

He can, of course and he does, did a long time ago. He means to tell her so, except the closer she steps the more he realises that while her coat is done up tight, he can see her neck, her collarbone, can just catch sight of the way her chest begins to 'v' before disappearing into the lace of her shift, the stiff curve of her corset.

Before he can say a word he is struck dumb by realisation; seeing more of her in that moment than ever before, even on the beach, even with her skirt held up in one hand. He glances down and there, where a full skirt should be he sees ankle, calf, pale skin in smooth lines, visible to the knee before her coat covers them. He swallows loudly, something caught in his throat. His heart pounds and he is glad he cannot see her knees, her thighs; he does not want to die here tonight of a heart attack.

His emotions have been shaken all afternoon, hearing of the accident and her part in it, and then to have her here saying more to fix the rift between them than he could have hoped for, and now this, this temptation in blue wool before him.

"Mrs Hughes, I— that is, of course I forgive you, if you'll forgive me." He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes in a long blink to steady himself. "I want to take you out, Mrs Hughes, after church on Sunday." When he opens his eyes again, she is closer, right up against his desk. His hands itch to reach out and touch the pale skin on show.

"I suppose that could be some sort of start, Mr Carson. Although I wonder if we might not live a little, before then."

The smokey drawl makes him look up, meet her blue eyes, darker than ever.

"I'm glad I haven't completely ruined this, Mr Carson."

He swallows again as she leans over his desk, the coat collar slips open further; she always has been a thing of {his} fantasy but he could not have imagined this, not even at his most wild. He wonders if he is not, actually, dreaming. If he fell asleep waiting for His Lordship to return and he'll wake up in a few hours, a crick in his neck and the same sense of missing her imbedded deep in his chest.

Her palms rest flat against his blotter, her breath brushes across his lips.

"You see I'm wearing almost nothing beneath this coat, Mr Carson and it's a long walk back to the cottage. Perhaps I could impose upon the Family's hospitality for the night?"

Her lips touch his and he pushes up to meet them fully; knows then that this isn't a dream, he has never, not once imagined that thing she does with her tongue.

His hands clasp at her waist, pull her as close as he can across the desk.

"You're the worst sort of temptation, Mrs Hughes." He whispers against her lips, her cheek. She tips her head and he buries his face in her neck, her hair surrounding him.

"And how's that, Mr Carson?"

"Because I don't think I can resist you tonight."

She laughs, lifts herself up onto the desk fully and takes his hands in hers, curls them around the lapels of her coat.

"Who says you have to?"

He is going to marry this woman, the first moment he gets. He won't risk things going wrong again. He has given the Crawleys all the time he is willing to.

"Temptress." He growls, and starts working on her buttons.

_**End.**_

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_Ahhhh, and I'm back to writing Chelsie. It feels so good.  
_


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Downton Abbey, Hurt-Comfort, Romance