Paper Folded Hearts -1-
Ship: Charles Carson/Elsie Hughes
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Confort
Words: 1,968
Synopsis: Elsie fears, Charles loves, and they share it by ink on simple pieces of paper. (Season 3 related, pre-Christmas Special.)
also on ff.net
Your hands can heal, your hands can bruise.
The days were stupidly brighter to Elsie since she finally found out that she wasn't going to die anytime soon of a horrible condition - she was put out of misery quite after the misery itself hit her hard, but she could see the veil of happiness around her shattering as more and more people found out that she could be severely sick and the worries about her wellbeing weren't as good as she once thought. She didn't like it one bit, she hated it most than the idea of being sick, she would never want to be a burden.
But as the sickness came and left, she found herself being slapped in the face because of the things she didn't do in her life. Have loved someone thoroughly, having worked less hard and enjoyed herself a lot more, and the list would go on. She could see in Charles' face that her smile would bring him comfort, and his hands on her would bring her the healing she wanted - warmth, closure, love.
She wasn't sure she loved him in the full sense of the word. Respect she felt, and no one could destroy that. And she knew him better than anyone in that house - and she always enjoyed those little moments of introspection where they'd seat across each other and talk about life and happenings, where the house doings weren't as important. She was very hesitant to the thought of loving him - she had always been, since the day they met. Any woman could be attracted, any woman at all, so any attraction she felt to those manly words and those deep eyes wouldn't be just her. But despite everything, it was like they grew to adults together, they were together for many years even if by only professional means. They lived under the same roof, they drank the same wine, they often shared the same books and places. But loving him was far from any normal thing to feel - it was quite scary at the end of the day.
Years ago, if she had been any reckless, thing she hardly knows what it consists of , she could have forced herself to show more feelings to him and perhaps even go one step further - kiss him, or showing that she wanted to taste the poison in his tongue. It could cost her life in the house, her job she earned with so many nights of hard work. But now, looking at the case of Anna and Mr. Bates, she felt like she could have done that and much more. If they could share love without being judged, why couldn't she? Was she any less than Anna? She was older, she knew life better. But as the day passed, as the feeling of being safer from death was relieving her back and her heart, she found out that in the end she hardly knew anything about life itself.
She was scared of this strange feeling she couldn't describe, she couldn't shrug off and sleep it over - it wasn't simple. She had read about love before. Hell, she had seen it with her eyes. But feeling it? She never thought her heart would be ready for that. And realizing it so late was what she was scared the most.
But the day wasn't over yet, as she was finishing some work in her pantry, downstairs of the house she swore to work to. As she bit her lip, thinking about all the possibilities, she got a piece of paper, and started to write. She was going to do something reckless, or try to. She had to take it out of her head, or rather, her heart. She was a woman, after all, and she wasn't that weak. She could do this.
One word came after another. She didn't think about she had written, but at least, she hadn't mentioned anything towards love. Now, finishing the text, she folded the paper and got it a simple envelope. She'd give it to him that very night. It seemed dangerous, but she was scared of holding on to that frightful feeling of being alone in the shade of something that someone on the same rank as her, a worker, a woman had done and successfully lived by would keep her from the joys in life.
She got up, envelope closed in hand, and a lack of courage in her chest. Hesitant, she opened the door of her pantry, going out to the corridor, the lonely walk between her objective that night. She would do it - she could do it. No matter the response, she'd know if she could live the danger or stay in the sidelines like she had always done, and still smile to the dawn of new days to come.
Approaching Charles' pantry, and knowing he would still be inside, she knocked. Charles opened the door and leaved her enough space to walk in smoothly, without any stare, as he returned to his work.
"It's late, Mrs. Hughes." He said, with a joyful tone of voice. "Is there anything I could do for you?"
Elsie stood there petrified, not sure if she should give him the letter or not, and words seemed to have been erased from the tip of her tongue.
Charles looked at her with his eyebrow raised. "Mrs. Hughes?"
"I… I want you to read this." She took a step further and handled him the envelope. "But when you're alone. I… Just read it, Mr. Carson, if it wouldn't take much of your wanted time."
"Most certainly not," he replied, taking the envelope from her trembling hands. "and I will most certainly read it. I just hope it isn't anything bad, because I've had enough surprises for a week."
"Haven't we all?" She managed to give out a grin, and relieved sigh. "Tomorrow, if you want to, do tell me… what you understood."
Charles straightened his back and smiled. "So it is something bad. I will, Mrs. Hughes, do not worry - now it's better for you to take your earned rest. I'll see you tomorrow, good night."
"Good night." Elsie smiled.
She got out of his pantry as smoothly as she got in, the relief and the thrill of the action boiling her blood. Nothing he'd say about it would hurt her, because chances would be that he wouldn't understand what she wanted to say. But as she wrote it, she would realize that fear would only give her the wings she needed to fly - she loved him. And she felt a lot better after realizing that nothing could hurt her more than having failed to the hesitant wanting of burning the letter and going to sleep that night.
Charles sat and opened the letter, hopefully thinking that it would be nothing as bad as he thought.
And he started to read.
Mr. Carson,
How many springs have we lived since we met? I can hardly count. It feels like a lifetime now, doesn't it?
First of all, I know I have failed you in not explaining what I have been through this past few months, the fear of being close to a painful death, and that same possibility; but I can't fathom to bother you with such trivialities, which aren't any trivial at any sense, but I just couldn't bring myself to it. But since Mrs. Patmore would have a sharper tongue that I'd ever think of having, I think it was better this way. But you did support me, even if it only was for a few days, and I couldn't thank you more for that.
There is a reason why I'm not telling this to you in person. The first is that I can't explain what I feel very well with words - because sometimes words out of mouths do not describe feelings felt at heart and my heart has been a subject of many, many questions and challenges lately. I've been brought to tears more often than I've ever been in the past years - if that made me any weaker, I don't know, time can only tell. I hope not, anyway.
I feel this sudden urge to tell you something, or to show you something I'd never do in my early years, out of respect for you and both our jobs, and the people we work to. I won't say what it is now… Because in our days it could lead us both to a road of despair, but since nothing in this house seems correct anymore (Oh, the chauffer married one of the golden daughters… The world is changing), I've thought the best approach would be written letters. I might regret this tomorrow, or in a few weeks, years even. Do keep reading.
We've grown up together - we've known each other as we've grown to know every corner of this house. And I've been finding that lately - as I can easily tell from your tone of your voice when you're sad or upset or happy towards anything at all. Perhaps it is just me. Perhaps it's all in my head.
The thing is, I can't understand what I feel anymore. We're friends, that I understand. Now if I ever wanted to be more than friends, I can't tell you without perhaps lying to myself. Or tell you at all.
I don't think it's my place to say such things, or to say anything in this matter at all, as I believe we can last some more years together without this being a bother. But I'm tired, Mr. Carson. Very. Tired of the happiness around me and not in me, I don't think you can understand.
I… have very strong feelings for you. Now what those feelings are, I am not sure - I want to find it out by myself. The outcome can be drastic, and it can hit you hard on your insides, or both our lifes, but I can't simply just shrug this curiosity out of me. Which is not curiosity, it is a need of knowing which way to walk now.
If you've made this far, I can only respect you more.
I'll wait a response.
With care,
Elsie Hughes.
Charles stood mesmerized with the letter in his hand. Most of those words he had been waiting to hear for years. But he was in the same situation - but he knew what he felt.
He loved Elsie Hughes, and if she was brave enough to put her integrity on the line, it wouldn't be gentlemanly to leave a lady to do so alone. He took a piece of paper and started to write as well.