s6 SPOILERLERRT!

Many thanks to partiallyyours and kissman for your comments on the draft!

Here's a peek inside Elsie's head during the wedding-planning cluster of misunderstandings where everyone means well and no one can communicate (yet). Angsty angst.

"...but the wedding day is mine!"

She hates the way her voice breaks.

They've worked in shorthand for so long, it seems he should be able to hear what she's been unable to say. It's so obvious: They'll be doing things his way for the next thirty years.

And now she's said it, so for God's sake; why doesn't he hear her?

For the past thirty years they've been all but equals. Yes, he is in charge, strictly speaking, but they work on level footing. Almost. Some think she's got the upper hand — what a lark. She's never been able to twist him round her little finger, no matter what Mrs Patmore says. But working together, she with her young women and he with his young men, they've made this place run smoothly, and — and now — now, good Lord.

She's fled his company in anger, seeking some peace in her sitting room. With the door shut (and locked, thank you very much, which is rare), she sinks into her desk chair.

She's certain he thinks she's weak, ungrateful, and... emotional. A little woman whose opinions don't matter — all the more because they're spoken in a voice that shakes.

And for him to tell her "This isn't like you." Twice now! She's never been so angry with him. All these years, decades they've lived hidden away behind all the rules of propriety. And then to have the barriers fall away, to kiss in his pantry, her heart filled… and now this. How could he? To reject her like that when they've been so open to each other!

She's been gripping the edge of her desk and now fury makes her tight-lipped as she inhales rapidly through her nose. She refuses to cry; she refuses to be weak, even locked away in her sitting room.

This isn't like you.

The first time wasn't so bad. He was trying to comfort her, in his way. This... this is like a slap in the face. It bloody hurts, and that is what made angry tears close up her throat like that.

This is supposed to be about them, him and her together, and just when she thinks he understands, he won't speak up! She wasn't asking him to be rude; she'd never have asked that of him. But he won't stand up to them for her sake. For their sake, together.

She even offered to do it! But he thought it should be him. Fine, then. She was willing to let him speak for them. That's his role; he's the man and the butler and... probably the one they would actually listen to. Fine.

But she couldn't get through to him. It hurts that he won't stand up for them.

It scares her that she's going to be his and he won't… he won't what? ... protect her? Ugh. She shakes her head. It's not that she wants a protector, exactly.

Not at all, in fact. She was ready to work for as long as anyone would let her. She is the protector. For ages she's been the one in charge, the one who sustains her sister. And she is in love with him, and he with her. And without understanding, he hurts her. And it hurts even more because he doesn't understand.

In a normal marriage, she thinks, her money would become his. That's bad enough, but at least they would both know she'd brought something to the union. It might have given her some measure of ... of power? She laughs bitterly. No, certainly not power. Some measure of something. Some memory, some ghost of an idea of autonomy to grasp in her mind in times of ... times of God knows what.

In times of strife, she supposes. Times like this. But no, she's not got that. She's entering this with nothing but herself.

And Becky, a mean little voice inside her whispers. He's taken that on too.

Obviously they'll be doing things his way. She's giving up everything, and for what? This horrible, impossible man, this dear man who flirts with her and breaks her heart wide open, and who looks at her with those damnable, beautiful, devastated eyes whenever he thinks she's rejecting him.

It's time he understood that he's not the only one with a proud, bruised heart that bleeds and loves and hurts. That it isn't spite or disdain that has her resisting the offer of a party at this glorious house. It's an aching need to be a person apart from this. To have him with her, to know that they are people in their own right — that they, apart and together, do not begin and end with their service to this family.

We'll be doing things your way for the next thirty years.

Inside this great house, the jingle of keys announces both her presence and her authority. The dress she wears marks her out as his counterpart, his chaste and respected partner.

For just one precious day, she needs them to be as equals, outside the house. Because Lord knows, after that they'll never be equal again.