A/N: This is part of what has become an unintentional AU Series within Prompts. I have titled it The Doctor and The Matron. You can catch up or refresh your memory by reading (here in Prompts) Chapter 37 and then Chapter 30 before reading this. Since they were written for prompts and at different times, they came out in reverse order. Also, there is a note at the end with historical context.

25th January 1944

She has been summoned to the private office of the physician-in-charge by an ashen-faced Dr. Thomas Barrow and in an instant she knows that something is wrong. Charles has been ill, but he's insisted that he's just a little under the weather with a cold and that it is nothing to worry about.

Matron Elsie Carson is the epitome of stalwart professionalism, the calm face the keeps the ship that is Downton's Village Hospital righted. She caps her pen and replaces it into her pocket, then closes patient file, and hands it to Anna Smith, the young nurse who shadows her. Giving an encouraging smile to the young woman, Elsie offers a few recommendations for patient care and then, taking a deep breath, turns to follow Dr. Barrow. While she had a smile and encouraging words for Anna the moment she turns away, the smile fades and Elsie's stomach drops as she thinks of her last letter to Charles.

She remembers how she admonished her husband in her last letter, writing that he needed to ask for liberty, that he'd do no one any good if he took seriously ill. She worries now that her words might have been too sharp. Sometimes her words are too sharp when she's worried or frightened. Elsie had written that of course everyone had to do their part, but that Charles needed rest, that he was overworked, and that she expected him to take care of himself. After all, he, alone, could not win the war; he could not perform every surgery, stitch every wound, and tend every patient. He had to trust the other doctors and nurses under his supervision to do their jobs.

And now as she walks the short distance from her office to that of Dr. Barrow, frightening scenarios play through her mind. Pictures of someone finding Charles alone in his stateroom in distress or worse. Someone walking in to find him slumped in his chair, newspapers or the book he was reading fallen at his feet; or perhaps he was lying still in his bunk having never awakened from a deep slumber. She'd never forgive herself if her last words to him were an admonishment, even if those words were out of her concern for him.

As they approach the half-open door of the office at the end of the hall, Elsie's eye catches the sunlight from a nearby window reflecting off the copper nameplate by the door. Her husband's name is inscribed on the plate there; this is still his office even though Dr. Barrow now occupies it. Barrow pushes the door open and allows Elsie to step fully inside where she finds the hospital's benefactor, Lord Grantham and Mr. Wigan from the post office waiting for her. Thomas indicates for her to sit at his desk, holds the back of the large leather chair for her, and then with a courteous nod of the head slips just outside the room to allow her privacy yet he stays close enough in case she needs him. In the four years of Charles's absence and since becoming lead physician at Downton Hospital, Dr. Barrow is learning from Matron Carson and Sister Phyllis Baxter to be more considerate of others. He hasn't had the easiest of lives and though he and Charles have often been at loggerheads over the younger doctor's arrogant demeanor, Thomas respects the Carsons and Charles's service to King and Country.

Sitting down, Elsie takes a deep breath before speaking. Listening carefully, she says very little except brief, stunted words of understanding as she looks over the telegram that Mr. Wigan passed across the desk to her. She thanks him for delivering it in person rather than sending one of the telegram boys that usually delivers such news.

The words that she hears are almost more than she can take in, more than she can process in the feebleness of her comprehension. She's almost always been the one giving sad news, cradling the mother who'd just given birth to a stillborn babe or the holding the hand of a sad wife, while Charles calmly explains the risks of the surgery that he will perform. Elsie and Charles have been gifted healthy children, blessed lives. Until now.

"Elsie, you know how … dear … you and Charles are to us and we will arrange everything if you will allow us," Robert offers gently. "I don't want to overstep, but in times like these … If you will allow me, I would like to arrange for your travel and accommodation. I don't want you worry with that type of thing."

"No, it would mean a great deal to both of us," she responds softly in return. She'll not cry. Elsie will not allow herself to break, not yet. Not until she is alone at her home with the door well and truly locked behind her will she allow herself to sink to the floor and to cry. She will not allow her nurses and the other patients to see her resolve crumble.

Matrons do not collapse.

"My contact at the War Office tells me that Charles arrived at Haslar this morning, so we should get you on a train as soon as possible. Mary is making the arrangements now," Robert pauses, draws a breath before he continues. "Nurses Smith and Baxter will manage things here. You've trained them well," Robert emphasizes. Elsie utters not a word but simply nods; it's all that she can manage.

She pushes back from the desk, stands, folds the telegram and places it into her pocket. When she looks back up she sees tears in Robert Crawley's eyes and she reaches over to place a hand on his arm. The Carsons and the Crawleys are old friends and what social rank separates, humanity does not. With his free hand Robert wipes away a few tears from his eyes and Mr. Wigan clears his throat. He knows that he is interrupting a private moment between two old friends and it is time that he excuses himself.

"If I'm not needed I'll make my way back to the post office, Mrs. Carson. Please let me know how Dr. Carson gets on. We are praying for him. For you too," the post master says sincerely.

"Thank you. Jimmy is in my prayers every night" Elsie replies with sincerity as she remembers the Wigans's youngest child. She remembers the day that she attended his birth, a hard labour that lasted hours with Downton's post mistress nearing fatal distress.

Robert sees Mr. Wigan out and then steps across the hall to the hospital kitchens and summons Mrs. Patmore the hospital cook. The robust redhead is Mrs. Carson's best friend and confidant and Robert knows that it is time to let her in on the secret though he's sure that she already knows by the look on her face when she sees him approaching.

"I knew it was serious when I saw Mr. Wigan arrive. He usually sends one of the boys," she begins to rattle off. "I told Daisy that it must be Charlie." Then the penny drops when she notices tears in Lord Grantham's eyes. "Oh my Lord. It's Dr. Carson. What will she do? Has he been … Is he ….?" Beryl Patmore begins dusting her hands on her apron and untying it.

"Mrs. Patmore, please. Dr. Carson is alive, but wounded and very, very ill. His ship was hit and sunk. He was stabilized at hospital inland and was flown to the Royal Naval Hospital at Gosport." Robert is distraught enough without the hysterics of the high strung cook. "Mrs. Carson needs you now. Would you please come with me? Dr. Barrow, you as well."

As soon as the door closes behind Robert, Beryl, and Thomas, Elsie feels her stomach sink. The atmosphere in the room has changed from stiff formality, from the relation of information to the tense realization of the situation at hand. She has the oddest sensation that she is being ganged up on, that the room is closing in on her.

"Oh Elsie, I'm so sorry," the cook calls out as she and the others enter the room.

"Beryl, he's wounded. Not dead," Elsie retorts sharply as she whips around from her position near the window. Her words crack through the room like lightening, eyes flashing with defiance. Charles Carson is only wounded. In hospital. Wounded. She's been summoned because … because … She's been summoned because …

"Let's gather your things," Mrs. Patmore comforts her friend as Elsie collapses into her arms. Even the sullen Thomas Barrow wipes a tear from his eye as he finds himself overcome at the scene of the two friends and Mrs. Carson collapsed in such grief. He has only ever seen Elsie Carson the picture of composure. Everyone at Downton's Village Hospital, including him, relies on her for support in the most dire of circumstances. He's not sure what he'll do without her. He's not sure how he can comfort her.

It seems an age since she and Mrs. Patmore left the hospital for the cottage, but Elsie knows that it has only been a few minutes. She has her hands clasped tightly on her handbag, so tightly that she wonders if she has made a permanent mark in the soft leather. It's no matter if she has, she has another in her wardrobe that is quite serviceable.

Mrs. Patmore hasn't forced conversation. She knows that her friend is a private person and that she will talk when she's ready. She can't imagine what she'd do or say if she was in the same situation, if she thought all was lost, all of her hopes and dreams for the future.

When the motorcar finally stops, and Lord Grantham's driver, Mr. Taylor steps out to open Elsie's door to help her out, she takes a deep breath and finally looks at Mrs. Patmore. Best get on with it.

Elsie unlocks the door and Mrs. Patmore follows her inside. While Beryl settles herself into the kitchen and finds the kettle, Elsie makes her way down the hall and into the bedroom. Elsie had waved her off, insisted that she can see to her own packing and so Beryl left her to it assuming that Elsie needed some time to herself. So Beryl sets about doing what she does best, preparing a warm cuppa and a sandwich. She turns the taps and sets about making a pot of tea. If there is one thing that she can do, it is make Elsie settle for a moment and take time for a cup of tea and a bite to eat before she sees her off to the train station. After she places the kettle on the hob and puts together a sandwich, Beryl peeks into the sitting room where she finds Charles's slippers placed side by side next to his chair. She smiles. She's known Elsie for thirty-five years and while they are the best of friends, she's never thought of Elsie as overly sentimental; certainly not one to keep Charles's slippers out by his chair while he's been away for so long. But then, Beryl's gentleman friend is home on a medical deferment, and she isn't sure what she would do to make things seem normal during a time when things are so uncertain.

It's been at least a half hour since Beryl has heard Elsie rustling about, since she's heard the occasional muttering under her breath and an infrequent curse peppering her language when something failed to cooperate. Deciding to finally investigate, Beryl finds Elsie sitting on the edge of the bed, suitcase closed and packed at her feet.

"I've some tea and a sandwich ready."

Elsie looks up with reddened eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a trembling bottom lip. "He's very ill. A broken arm, leg, four broken ribs, a broken wrist, and that's only what I know."

Beryl isn't sure what to say. She isn't known for her beside manner; Elsie has told her more than once that it is a good thing that she is in the kitchens and not in the wards where people need a shoulder to cry on and words of comfort. Instead of saying something, Beryl simply stills Elsie's hands and leans into her; shoulder against shoulder.

"Old fool. Throwing a man over his shoulder as the ship was sinking," Elsie cries as she shakes her head in disbelief. "Wars are for young men." Hers are bitter tears. Her man has fought his war; she has seen him through it. "If he dies, Beryl, I don't know what I'll do."

"He won't die."

"You don't know that." Elsie stands to her feet and begins to pace. "He was supposed to be safe. Hospital ships are supposed to be safe."

The two hours that pass seem like an eternity and has Elsie has debated over whether to send telegrams telling her children of their father's condition. In the final analysis she decides to wait until she sees Charles in person, until she knows exactly what they are facing.

With her tears finally dried and she and Beryl make plans for care of the cottage and Snow, the Carson's fox terrier, while Elsie is away. With both of her men away at war and her girls away in London, Snow has been a constant companion to Elsie. The little terrier that came to their doorstep on cold winter's night found in Elsie a champion. Since that first night, Snow sleeps at her master's feet, follows her to the hospital each morning and accompanies her home each evening. Now, as they await Mr. Taylor's return to take Elsie to the train station, dog and master sit curled together on the sofa.

"I know it won't be the same, but I will take good care of 'er," Beryl promises with a nod to the dog curled in Elsie's lap.

"I know that you will. I'm being ridiculous. She'll be fine. It's not as if she's a child," Elsie musters a weak laugh.

"Well, maybe not, but she's precious to you and that means a lot," Beryl muses sympathetically as she sips on her tea. On hearing a knock at the front door, Beryl waves Elsie off, tells her to stay put, and answers the door herself. When she swings open the door she finds standing opposite her Robert Crawley's eldest daughter, Mary. Tall, dark-haired, and fair-complexioned, Lady Mary Crawley is regal in her bearing; everything the first daughter of the Earl of Grantham ought to be.

There's a stiff formality about the young woman as Beryl ushers her into the Elsie's sitting room. Elsie gives Snow a nudge and the dog scampers down, but stays nearby. Elsie rises to her feet, meeting Lady Mary eye-to-eye. The two women, though not naturally fond of one another, respect one another nonetheless. Elsie finds the elder Crawley daughter imperious and haughty; Lady Mary thinks Elsie stubborn and too exacting. The one thing they have in common is their love for Charles. Accompanying her mother to board meetings, Mary, as a young girl had developed a rapport with Dr. Carson who took the time to answer her questions, explain illnesses and treatments, allow her to sit alongside his daughter Kate in his office while Lady Cora accompanied Elsie on her rounds occasionally. He listened to her when many adults wouldn't.

"First let me say that I am confident that Dr. Carson will make a full recovery," Lady Mary begins.. "He's always been one of the strongest men I've known. That said, I have arranged your travel to the coast and for your accommodation."

"Thank you M'lady," Elsie replies appreciatively. "I don't know what to say."

"You needn't say any more, except to give Dr. Carson our best wishes for a full and speedy recovery. Taylor is here to take you to the station. Do call when you've arrived and let us know how he's doing."

"I will," Elsie confirms as she picks up her bag and gives the cottage the once over, making sure that everything is in order for her departure.

"And Mrs. Carson, take care of yourself will you? Dr. Carson has always relied on you so." Elsie nods, assures Mary that she will take care and turns to give Beryl a last goodbye.

When the train rolls into the station in Gosport, day has turned to night and the city has fallen under a blanket of misty darkness. Elsie smiles fondly at the young couple across from her; the woman who is likely only all of twenty-one and the young man dashing in his naval uniform remind her of years ago when she, like the woman in front of her, was a young bride just married to a handsome naval officer.

The porter offers Elsie his hand as she disembarks the train and she gladly takes it; her bones are heavy and muscles weak. She's not slept more than two winks between Downtown and Gosport, what with the train changes and her worrying over Charles. Just as Lady Mary had indicated a car awaits her and the drivers takes Elsie's bag and then helps her inside. As they depart the station, the driver makes small talk, asks Elsie where she's from and who she's traveled to see.

The Royal Naval Hospital is very different from Downton's quaint Village Hospital and Elsie finds that she is rather shocked by it all. Of course she took some training in some of the larger hospitals, but the complex before her is enormous. An elegant building of brown brick and and gleaming white marble, surrounded by an impressive iron gate, activity surrounding the hospital is bustling. Nurses change shifts, visitors come and go, and injured men are being admitted.

With assistance from the staff, Elsie winds her way through endless corridors and past wards of those suffering from all sorts of maladies until she reaches the orthopedic surgery ward. She inquires at the nurses desk as to the whereabouts of her husband. A young nurse asks Elsie to wait a moment and then takes her leave.

"Hello Mrs. Carson. We've been expecting you. I'm glad that you arrived so quickly." Nurse Cooper, a tall, brunette calls from behind Elsie. Turning, Elsie finds a woman close in age to herself, full-figured, and full voiced. Nurse Cooper's hazel eyes sparkle behind gold-rimmed spectacles and Elsie is sure she hears a hint of the north in her accent. "This way. It's a bit late and visiting hours are over but if anyone gives you any cheek, just you refer them to me." Elsie has the comforting feeling that she's met a kindred spirit or at least Beryl Patmore's kindred spirt. Nurse Cooper is as no-nonsense as her friend back home.

"He's been quite agitated and calling for a Nurse Hughes, but we don't have a Nurse Hughes on our staff. When I've told him that he becomes insistent and very upset so I simply tell him that she is coming soon. That seems to satisfy him for a while."

"She was his nurse at our village hospital. I'll speak to him about it," Elsie explains as the round the corner into the officer's ward where Charles is recovering. There are ten beds on this ward and each of them filled. Elsie wonders about each man's story, about each man's family.

"I hope so because we've had to restrain him. He cannot be moved in his condition and he has been very insistent on looking for this particular nurse. Some of the younger nurses are a bit intimidated by him, but I have a feeling Dr. Carson's bark is worse than his bite. And, here we are," Nurse Cooper finishes as she stops in front of Charles's bed. "He's just out of surgery so he'll be sleeping a bit longer."

"Thank you. I'd like to speak with his doctor," Elsie asks politely as she casts a concerned glance toward her husband. The nurse excuses herself and Elsie begins to assess Charles's condition. She stands at his bedside, brushes his hair away from his forehead. "Oh, Charlie," she sighs as she feels a tears fill her eyes. She assesses his condition, first as a nurse, the trained professional in her taking over. She knows that Charles will recover; that with time and care, broken bones mend and wounds knit back together. As her fingertips trace over his eyebrow, down the side of his cheek, over the shell of his ear, and down his neck, the role of nurse falls away, subservient to the role of loving wife.

"Charlie Carson, I ought to be angry with you, so very angry" she confesses as she wipes tears from her eyes, "but I can't. You saved that young man's life. And in time, he will heal and you will heal. And we will get through this together. Just like we've gotten through everything else." She looks over the bandages, the plaster casts, the stitches, and sighs. "You don't do anything by halves do you, darling?"

"Mrs. Carson, I am Dr. Clarkson," a distinguished middle-aged Scotsman announces as he introduces himself, his hand outstretched. "I apologize for the delay, but I am sure that you know how it is. We are a bit catch as catch can at the moment."

"Of course. It's much the same, but on a much smaller scale at our hospital back home," Elsie replies shaking the doctor's hand. Of course she understands. Downton's hospital is much the same she tells him; filled with war wounded and then villagers alike. They aren't accustomed to being at full capacity. And truthfully, though Thomas is a skilled doctor, he's young and Downton's hospital aches from Charles's absence, from the lack of his steadying presence.

She aches from Charles's absence, from his sure, commanding presence at the hospital and his warm, loving embrace at home.

"And now Downton Village is without her chief doctor and her Matron," Dr Clarkson continues. "Lord Grantham told me of your connection and position when we spoke earlier. I'm glad that you could be spared for a bit to be with Dr. Carson. Family visitation is a great morale boost as you know."

"So Charles's injuries are severe?"

"I'd classify them more as serious," Dr. Clarkson corrects. "When the ship lurched, he fell whilst carrying a patient to a water ambulance and that is when many of his injuries were sustained. As as you know, Dr. Carson has several broken ribs that we've stabilized. He'll be very sore until they've mended. He's a nasty cut on his chin which you've seen. That should heal just fine, though it will likely leave a scar. He's a broken leg, foot, and shoulder all on the right side. But we feel each of those wounds should heal in time. He is in a great deal of pain and he's been quite agitated, so we've kept him sedated for the most part, but I think the nurse has told you that. He's just out of surgery to properly set his shoulder, so I think that's he will sleep for a while now." Elsie nods in acknowledgement. "Mrs. Carson," and here the doctor's voice falls quiet as if he's afraid the sleeping patient will hear him, "Dr. Carson's right hand was shattered."

Elsie's hand flies to her mouth as she suppresses a cry but she can no longer suppress the tears that fall earnestly from her eyes. Dr. Clarkson doesn't need to explain what he's implied. Charles's surgical career is likely over. Dr. Clarkson reaches into his breast pocket and retrieves a handkerchief, takes Elsie's free hand, and presses the perfectly pressed cotton square into it. Elsie gives him a watery half smile, a thanks for his kindness.

"Does he know?"

"He does," the doctor confirms. "I'm afraid that he didn't take it well. I don't imagine that I would take that sort of news any better. Once he has recovered, he will be able to have near normal function, but he will not be able to operate. He will not have fine, steady use of it any longer." Doctor Clarkson gives Elsie a moment to catch her breath; though he is speaking to a fellow medical professional, he is also speaking to a wife who is at the bedside of her badly injured husband. "Dr. Carson has a long road to recovery. I'd say though, that if you wish, he can be transported to a convalescent hospital in a couple of weeks. I can have him transferred to Downton." Elsie acknowledges this with a tight nod.

"How is his … only I know some men, when they've been injured so severely suffer from … " Elsie has seen men with war wounds and knows that mental suffering often accompanies physical pain but doesn't want to name it, doesn't want to imply that anything more could be troubling Charles.

" … I'm sure once he realizes that you are here, his disposition will be much brighter, " the doctor answers helpfully. "You know better than anyone that pain and the medications he is receiving can plan funny tricks on the mind."

"Of course," Elsie replies quietly.

The chair on which she sits is numbingly uncomfortable, but Elsie's loathe to move. It's good of Dr. Clarkson to allow her to sit by Charles's beside when there is so much going on around them. Elsie's made plans to stay as long as Charles needs her and she's going to speak with Matron Gillanders to see if she may be of service while she's here. No sense being in the way when she can be useful. Her eyes drop to her wedding ring and with the index finger and thumb of her free hand, Elsie begins to twist it. It's a nervous habit and that she's almost completely unaware of. She remembers the morning that Charles placed it on her finger and it all comes flooding back to her. Violet Crawley had offered to force the arm of the vicar so that she and Charles could marry in the church without waiting for the reading of the banns. Even now Elsie smirks to herself. She knew that everyone would think that she was pregnant; why else, especially with war imminent, would two young people wish to marry so quickly? Yet Charles wouldn't hear of it; he wouldn't risk having Elsie's reputation sullied in any way so they waited and when he had completed his training the they were married even if it meant that they would only have three nights together before he left for France and the Western Front; hardly a proper honeymoon.

Elsie's eyes flick up to her husband who lies in the bed before her; broken and bandaged, his chin gashed and stitched, his body immobilized and bound to the bed, and she thinks back to their wedding day. She remembers how very handsome Charles was in his uniform, how tall and regal he was standing in front of the church waiting for her, the fragrance of the lilies filling St. Michael's that morning, her parents down from Scotland, and walking down the aisle, her arm tucked inside her father's, to meet Charles. It was as if it was both yesterday and long ago wrapped into one. Marriage, war, children, and work. A lifetime together. They managed all of it together. And now this. Elsie takes Charles's hand. He is her anchor as much as she is his. They will get through this as well. Together.

27th January 7 am

During the night every four hours a nurse assessed Charles's condition, gauged his pulse, his breathing, and his lucidity, and then filled a syringe with morphine and injected him with the substance that made his condition bearable. Though Elsie has rarely left Charles side since she arrived the evening before, Nurse Cooper encourages Elsie to take a turn about the hospital garden, to stretch her legs a little and clear her head. Though Elsie is resistant, the nurse is insistent and tells Elsie that she'll be no good to Dr. Carson if she's worn out. Elsie knows that she's right; that she, herself, has given the same advice to dozens of spouses before. With a kiss to Charles's brow, she gives a nod and a smile to the nurse and makes her way into the corridor. Elsie admits that she's tired. It's not the same tiredness that she experiences when she's worked more than one shift, or when they've been overrun with patients during flu season. No this is quite different. She's weary. Not of body but of mind. She's not felt this weary since influenza swept through the village catching up their eldest in its wake. She and Charles didn't sleep for thirty-six hours; instead tending a hospital filled with patients and willing their little one to live.

The morning's fog burns off slowly revealing a brown carpet of both dormant sod and evergreen bushes growing against the hospital's old brick walls. Though the hospital bustles with activity, the grounds that surround it are quiet this morning except for the little family of rabbits that scamper across the yard, rolling, jumping, and playing. Elsie leans against a tree and watches the three of them. It's unseasonably mild for January and Nurse Cooper was right; it's done her good to get out of the hospital for a moment; to get out away from such misery to see that life goes on, that nature has a way of continuing in that systematic way it has.

"Where is she? Where is Matron Hughes!" Elsie's heart swells when she hears her husband's voice booming throughout the ward. He's agitated no doubt, but he's awake for the first time since she's arrived. She scurries down the corridor.

"Dr. Carson you must keep your voice down, you are disturbing the other men who are trying to sleep," Nurse Cooper admonishes him.

"If Matron Hughes was here, you'd never admonish me this way! She would serve you notice. Who is in charge here?"

"Dr. Carson, that is enough! You'd do well to be quiet and not wake the rest of the men. You'd also do well to apologize to Nurse Cooper, who has given you very good care. I'll not tolerate anyone mistreating the nurses, not even you," Elsie admonishes her husband from her vantage point at the end of his bed.

"Elsie … ?" Charles struggles to clear his head of the haze. His head swims with a a drug induced fog. He's unsure if the voice he hears is truly Elsie's or if he's imagined it.

Nurse Cooper's head whips around to see a smirking Elsie.

"Elsie Hughes Carson, wife of Charles, Matron of Downton Village Hospital," she offers with a grin.

"I should have known," the nurse admits. "Well now maybe he'll be more cooperative."

"I doubt it," Elsie replies in turn. "He can be a bit of a curmudgeon."

"But I'm you're your curmudgeon," Charles adds in weakly. Both women realize that he's coming around, that the haze is lifting, and that Charles is becoming clearer-headed.

"That you are darling. That you are," Elsie confirms as she leans down to kiss his forehead. Nurse Cooper excuses herself to leave husband and wife alone. Elsie pulls a nearby chair close to Charles's bed; Charles extends his left hand and she takes it, rubs her thumb soothingly over his knuckles and he musters a smile.

"I'm glad you're here."

To be Continued …

A/N: Historical context: In January 1944 there were several hospital ships that were out to sea around Anzio supporting the Allied offensive there. Per the Geneva Convention, hospital ships with their special markings and lighting were strictly off target. However, on the night of 24th January three ships including H.M.S. St. David on which our fictional Charles Carson served, were bombed by the Germans and sunk. If you are interested, there is all sorts of fascinating information on the web. The Royal Naval Hospital Haslar did exist at Gosport near Portsmouth and was established in the 18th century. It served thousands of British servicemen and was eventually taken out of service in the 2000s.

A/N2: I never know how this AU wants to continue; it seems to have a life of its own and a direction of its own. We may or may not pick up with Charles's recovery or we may pick up sometime in the future with something happening in the family, who knows. I'm going to leave the Carson family AU here in prompts for a while because I feel less pressure to write them this way. I am not that good at writing long, continuing stories. I start them and then lose steam which inevitably means there is a long time between chapters. So if I leave them here in Prompts, then the pressure of writing them each week is not as great. Nevertheless, we will see this AU again; it is one of my favorites to explore – the war and post-war years with Chelsie. Thank you for reading and if you are inclined, please leave a review.x