This was meant to be my offering for week 8 of chelsiefan71's unofficialdas8 challenge on Tumblr. It's a (very fluffy) sequel to the story I posted last year for the s7 challenge, "All the Difference," but you don't have to read that story to understand this one. This takes place the evening after the final scene in 6x01.

Mrs. Hughes sits at her desk going over the family's schedule for the next few months, trying to decide when she and Mr. Carson may marry without causing inconvenience. She had hoped that they could settle the matter over tea, but the day had been a busy one, and they'd not had a moment to themselves since this morning in her sitting room doorway. Now that most of her doubts have been laid to rest, she begins to feel a flutter of excitement at the prospect of planning the wedding. Her wedding.

It's late. Most of the staff have gone to bed, and Mrs. Hughes waits for Mr. Carson to bring the wine. She hears his footsteps first, light and brisk across the tiles, and her heartbeat quickens at the sound.

"Come in," she calls in answer to his knock, but he's already opening the door.

Setting down her pen, she draws her chair up to the table and watches while he pours the wine. The familiar ritual helps to steady her. They are on the cusp of a new life together after all, and it's comforting to know that some things won't change.

"Nothing like a glass of port to end the night," Mr. Carson says.

"Mm," she says, taking a sip. "I quite agree."

He clears his throat. "Have you given any thought yet to a date for the wedding?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," she says, setting down her glass. "What do you say to the sixteenth of May?"

His shoulders fall a bit. "Oh."

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Only…two months is, ahem, quite a long time."

"Over thirty years and you've just now grown impatient?" She watches the tips of his ears turn red and bites back a smile. Heaven knows she's just as eager to marry as he is, but there are still practical matters to consider. "I'm sure you wouldn't wish to disrupt the family's schedule."

"No," he says. "You're right, of course."

"As usual." She raises an eyebrow at him over the rim of her glass.

He chuckles, shifting a bit so that his hand moves across the table, closer to her own. "And it will give us more time to plan for the wedding."

"I hope you're not thinking of anything too grand," she says, remembering Mr. Carson's fondness for style and show.

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

"Well, we're not exactly love's young dream are we?" At their ages, it would be silly to make a fuss. She doesn't want to appear ridiculous to anyone.

"I don't know that I agree. I would say we've as much right to a grand wedding as some of the young people. Perhaps more."

"That's very sentimental talk for you."

"Perhaps you've made me a bit sentimental Mrs. Hughes." He reaches out and brushes her finger, the same finger that will soon be encircled by his ring. It's only the barest of touches, but her breath catches in her throat.

Swallowing, she asks quickly, "Are you never going to call me Elsie?"

"We're at work."

"But we aren't working."

He gestures with his glass. "I only need a little time to get used to the idea."

"Just so long as you make an effort after we're married."

"I shall call you nothing else when we're alone together, in our own home."

Tucking her chin at his words, she lets out a soft laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you'll slip now and again Mr. Carson, but I'll overlook it."

"And I shall thank you for it."

A companionable silence follows. The fire crackles in the grate, and she watches the flames flicker in Mr. Carson's glass. A warmth fills her to think of them seated side by side before a fire in their own home. It's an old dream that she had indulged from time to time, and even now she can hardly make herself believe that it will come true.

"Not Elspeth then?" he asks at last.

Her head snaps up, and she sees the twinkle in his eyes and the faint smile at his lips. He's teasing her, dear man!

Shrugging his shoulders, he adds, "Your name is a diminutive of Elspeth."

"And you'd rather not use a shortened version, is that it?"

"I like to do things properly."

"Don't I know it! But my name is just Elsie." And after a moment's hesitation, she gives him her full name, "Elsie May."

"It suits you," he says softly, and she stifles her sigh of disappointment that he still refuses to say her name aloud.

She looks down at the wine in her glass and swirls it around. "Anyway, you'll need to get used to diminutives," she says, thinking of the name she's longed to call him for ages. The name on the tip of her tongue when she heard him singing for her in his pantry, and that day by the sea, barefoot and with his trousers rolled up. The name she almost let slip the evening he proposed, with tears in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

"Charlie."

When she dares to look at him, his eyebrows have risen sharply over wide eyes, and she worries she's offended him. But his face quickly melts into a smile. For a moment, he says nothing, only clasps her hand across the table.

And then, "Elsie," he rumbles.

At long last.

Thank you for reading! I'd love a review if you have time.