Without Her

A/N: Here is another wonderful prompt from my dear adama-roslinlove. Thank you for the prompt and for helping me get it sorted out in my head. Set during episode 2.08. Contains Series 2 spoilers for those who have only just begun their journey with Downton Abbey. None of these characters belong to me. Thank you to my wonderful beta, SashaElizabeth. It was meant to be a one-shot, but it sort of got out of hand.

Robert stood stunned, taking in the sight before him. He had reluctantly left his wife's bedroom for a moment when he heard that Lavinia had taken a turn for the worse. Dr. Clarkson had not thought that she was seriously ill. Now, she was gone. He watched as Matthew clung to his fiance's hand, unsure of what to say or do. Images of his own ailing wife flashed across his consciousness, and the words the doctor had spoken rang in his ears. If she lasts through the night, she'll live. Oh, God, what if she doesn't, he suddenly thought. He turned to Mary and Edith, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm going to go sit with your mother," he spoke to his daughters. They nodded to him with eyes full of fear. He knew that they were just as afraid as he was that Cora, too, could very well succumb to this awful disease.

He walked through the door to find O'Brien still sitting at Cora's bedside. She had hardly left that spot since the whole ordeal began, and the fact that his wife's maid had been there for her more than he had made his stomach churn. How could he have been so thoughtless?

"O'Brien, I must insist that you have a rest," Robert said as he sat down on his side of the bed. "You've been awake for almost forty-eight hours straight."

"But, milord-"

"No, I insist, O'Brien. I cannot express my gratitude for how you've watched after her ladyship. But, you need rest. I'll sit with her."

"Well, if you're sure, your lordship. But, do ring for me if there is anything you need or that I can do."

"I will; thank you. Good night, O'Brien."

"Good night, milord."

Robert heard the door click shut behind him as he turned his attention to his wife. He couldn't hold back the tears that filled his eyes as he looked at her. Cora had always been delicate. She was tall and fine-boned; very delicate and graceful. But as he continued to study her, he noticed just how fragile she looked now; as if the slightest touch would break her. His chest constricted painfully as he finally bore witness to just how weak his normally strong Cora had become. He brushed her hair away from her face. It was sticky with sweat from the effects of the fever. He noticed that she no longer gasped for air, but there was still a distinct wheezing sound coming from her. He leaned over and placed several feather-light kisses to her cheeks and forehead, his tears spilling onto his wife's face. She stirred, but didn't wake.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he whispered. "I'm sorry for not realizing my love for you sooner. I'm sorry for not always defending you to my mother, although you proved to everyone more than once that you can take care of yourself where that is concerned. I'm sorry if I ever in any way made you feel inadequate. Because the truth is that you are more-much more-than I deserve. I'm sorry for not taking better care of you. I should have protected you from this. Most of all I'm sorry for-" But, he couldn't bring himself to voice this last thought. If there was a chance that she could hear what he was saying, he couldn't bear to tell her about what he had done. She didn't deserve that kind of heartbreak, not after all she had been through. He continued to gaze at his wife. She was always so beautiful. Even now after Spanish Flu had ravaged her body, he still thought there was no other woman more beautiful than his Cora.

The magnitude of what he had done suddenly washed over him anew, and he no longer felt worthy to be in the same room as his wife, let alone in the same bed. Placing one last kiss to her cheek, he gently removed himself from the bed, and went to his dressing room. He didn't bother to ring for Bates; instead, he readied himself for bed. Before sliding beneath the covers, Robert knelt down next to the bed. He didn't consider himself a particularly religious man. He really couldn't remember the last time he had prayed. However, he knew that if any situation called for prayer, it was this one.

"Dear God," he began, "I know I don't do this nearly as often as I should. But, Lord, I beg you to spare my wife. I know that I don't deserve her. I never have, but especially not after what I did the other night. Please forgive me for that. I don't dare offer an excuse for there isn't one. But, please don't make my wife the price for my transgression. Though I don't deserve Cora, the truth is that I can't make it without her. I can't even bear the thought of trying. Please let her live, Lord. Please…" Robert found he couldn't continue, unable to speak around the lump that had formed in his throat. He got up and slipped into bed, glancing at the door that separated his dressing room from his wife's. "Please, Lord," he whispered into the darkness. Sleep wasn't long in coming.