Elsie watched out the backdoor as the last of the hallboys trot up the drive towards the village. She's been sending her "chicks" home for Mothering Sunday for years, she should be used to it by now. Taking a deep breath & pulling her shawl tighter against the cold March wind blowing through the courtyard, she turned & closed the door firmly behind her. What happens next?

I cut a line and a word from the prompt to suit my purposes, please forgive me. For a happy ending, stop reading at the break. For angst-y self-torture, read the whole thing. This story was inspired by NothingMadeMeHappen's own response to the above prompt – check out her collection 'That Look' if you haven't already.

She shouldn't stay out in the cold too long, she was sure to catch a chill. Spring had sprung, but the air still had a bite to it. She turned towards the house when the sound of little feet barreling down the stone pavement made her pause.

"Mama!" A little dark haired blur collided with her leg, hugging it tightly.

"Grace!" she laughed, bending over. "What's this?"

Grace extracted herself from her mother's leg. At six, ('almost seven', she would declare proudly to anyone who would listen) she was a rather energetic child, far too precocious for her own good.

"Mama, I brought you a present," she said cheerfully, holding out a small bouquet of flowers.

"I see," said Elsie, taking the flowers from the girl. All from the gardens of Downton it would seem. "And I assume you asked Mr. Wellington about taking flowers from the garden."

"Yes," said Grace happily. "He helped me pick them."

"They're beautiful," Elsie said warmly. "And where is your brother and your sister?"

Grace shrugged. "They're not here. Guess that means I love you best."

"No! Grace, no fair!" Around the corner came Charlotte, dragging her baby brother Liam by the hand. Charlotte was about a head taller than Grace, and looking more like Elsie every day if Charles was to be believed.

"You ran ahead," Charlotte scowled at her little sister.

"Yeah, they're from all of us," insisted Liam, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Thank you to all of you then," Elsie said, looking pointedly at Grace. The little girl mumbled her apology into her mother's skirt. Elsie handed the little bouquet to Charlotte for safekeeping.

"That's alright, pet," she said, stroking Grace's head. She opened her arms so that Liam and Charlotte might have a proper hug. She noticed the boy shiver as he let go of her. "It's cold out here, why don't we all go inside an have some tea then, hmm?"

"Yes, please!" chorused the three of them, united again. Elsie laughed and lifted Liam into her arms, tickling him so that he might forget for a moment about how chilly it was. The little boy squealed in delight and buried his face in his mother's neck.

"Come on then," Elsie urged the girls, and together they trudged back into the house.

Sitting at the table in the servant's hall was particularly nice in the absence of the rest of the staff. The house was empty, save for them, Charles and Mrs. Patmore.

"Is Papa going to have tea too, Mama?" Liam wanted to know, squirming in his seat.

"Maybe later, pet. Papa is very busy."

"He's a butler," Charlotte reminded her brother with a rather self important air, "they're often too busy for tea."

Elsie rolled her eyes at her oldest daughter, but said nothing. 'Tea' for the children was little more than warm milk with a splash of tea in it, courtesy of Mrs. Patmore. The cook spoiled them rotten, always adding an extra lump of sugar for them when 'Mama wasn't looking.' Mrs. Patmore brought out the tea tray with a great smile and set it triumphantly on the table in front of Elsie.

"Tea fit for a Queen," she declared, with a wink to the housekeeper.

"Mama isn't the Queen," Liam laughed, as Mrs. Patmore tweaked his nose.

"Mama could be a Queen," said Grace, already reaching for a sandwich.

"Grace," chided Elsie, blocking her daughter's hand. "What do we say first?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore," said Grace sweetly. Her siblings followed suit.

"You're welcome," smiled the cook. The talk of Queens was forgotten as the children dived into their snack.

"Slow down, Liam, you'll give yourself a stomach ache," said Elsie as the boy tried to put an entire cucumber sandwich in his mouth. She reached over and sliced another sandwich for him in two. "Take smaller bites, dear."

Liam nodded and Elsie stifled a laugh. The boy looked like a chipmunk. "Yes, Mama," he managed, after the world's largest swallow.

Mrs. Patmore brought Elsie a cup of proper tea along with one for herself, which Elsie acknowledged gratefully with a nod of her head. The tea in the pot for the little ones was hopelessly weak, but they enjoyed it. Elsie sipped gratefully letting the tea, and the sight of her children all finally getting along warm her inside and out.

She heard footsteps in the corridor and Charlotte's face lit up. "Papa!" she exclaimed. "Did you come for tea?"

Elsie turned and stood to greet her husband. He wrapped his arm around her waist affectionately, pulling her close to him. The staff wasn't there, save Mrs. Patmore, the level of restraint they usually exhibited in the servant's hall wasn't necessary. "Not today," he rumbled, "you ought to finish up, it's almost time for bed."

Grace and Charlotte swallowed the last of their tea, but Liam was already out of his chair, pulling on his father's pant leg. "Papa, can I sleep with you and Mama tonight?"

"How about you stay for a cuddle and then sleep in your own bed?" suggested Charles, picking his son up. "Oof! You're heavy!"

"I am not!" pouted Liam. "I want to cuddle."

"A cuddle it is then, lad," said Charles, smiling at his wife.

"Mama?" asked Charlotte nervously, "May I cuddle too?" At ten years old she worried that she was too old for cuddling in her parents bed, but Elsie smiled reassuringly at her.

"I don't see why not," said Elsie, "Put the dishes in the kitchen and we'll go upstairs."

Grace and Charlotte hurried to clear away the dishes and Charles transferred the boy to his wife's arms. He had rounds to see to first, so he gave her the briefest of kisses before going upstairs.

The children were well versed in their bedtime routines, often doing them mostly without the watchful eye of either of their parents these days. Charlotte was usually responsible for making sure her siblings washed their faces and got into their pajamas, a task she took very seriously. Elsie sat on the bed in her nightgown, brushing out her hair and enjoying a few moments of silence before her bedroom was invaded by a parade of little faces. She braided it smartly, and twisted a ribbon to secure it just before Charlotte appeared at the door, holding out a hairbrush with a pleading look on her face.

"Come here," Elsie sighed. Charlotte could do this for herself, but secretly Elsie adored helping her with it. Charlotte beamed and skipped over to the bed, turning so her mother might brush out the tangled knot of curls.

Elsie hummed snippets of an old lullaby, the words mostly forgotten, as she pulled the brush through. Charlotte stayed quiet, even when it pulled painfully, knowing complaining would not garner her any sympathy. Grace marched in and settled herself in her favourite place at the foot of the bed, just as Elsie finished up Charlottes braid. Liam was not far behind, burrowing under the covers until he was just a lump in the bedclothes, albeit one shaking with giggles.

Elsie tried half heartedly to coax her son out from under the covers, knowing he would come eventually on his own. Charles, who had slipped silently into the room, distracted her from her efforts.

"Elsie, my love," he said gently, leaning over to kiss her head.

"Charles," she said happily. "Haven't they grown so big?" It had been a little while since they'd tried to fit all of them together in their bed, and they grew so fast. Charlotte cuddled closer to her mother, to make room for Charles on the other side.

"Yes, my dear," said Charles, slipping under the covers and holding them up so that Liam might scramble out. "Now, I think it's time for bed."

The youngest Carson elected to plunk himself down on his father's chest, to which Charles laughed and shifted him over. "Good night, Papa," the boy murmured sleepily.

"Good night, laddie." returned Charles, ruffling Liam's hair. Elsie smiled at the pair of them. Like two peas in a pod, she thought. Charles turned towards his wife. "Good night, love," he said, kissing her sweetly on the forehead. She sighed, and snuggled deeper under the covers, drifting off into a dreamless happy sleep.

The End. (if you wish)

He knew today was bound to set her off. If he'd had his way she wouldn't have seen the staff off at all, but she was determined to. At least it was only he and Mrs. Patmore in the house, the fewer people that saw this the better. When he found her sitting on her chair, gazing off into nothing, lips twitching without saying words he almost wanted to leave her there and let her have it. He could only break her heart sooner to pull her out of it, if that were even possible. She never did seem to come to her senses until she was good and ready.

Still, it wouldn't do for her to be like this when the staff came back.

"Elsie, my love," he said gently, taking her hands in his.

"Charles," she said happily, "haven't they grown so big?"

"Yes, my dear. Now, I think it's time for bed."

He never denied them anymore. It only upset her, and did nothing to stop them from appearing. She would be angry enough with herself when she realized, there was no point in him adding to that.

He led her upstairs to their room and tucked her carefully into bed. With any luck she would awaken in time for tea. He checked his pocket watch. Yes, tea was probably right. He drew the curtains, darkening the room and went to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Good night, love," he whispered.

She smiled contentedly and he wished, just for a moment, that he could see what she saw. But of course, thank goodness he didn't, and he felt guilty for even having the thought. She never wanted it to happen, no one could possibly. He would spend all evening consoling her once she started to come out of it. The loss of control made her frustrated and angry, enough to smother the grief of losing, yet again, what had never been hers.

Theirs, he thought bitterly to himself as he settled into the chair to wait. What had never been theirs.

The End. (For Real)