She saw him every day and yet, she had never talked to him.

Not that she didn't want to, on the contrary: somewhere inside her, a growing desire of speaking to him and hearing his voice was getting stronger and stronger every day; the point was, she couldn't talk to him. Everything she could do was spy him for a brief moment every time she passed quickly in front of the half-open door of his hospital door. Spy his ash blonde curls, his big blue eyes, his broad shoulders… Spy his obvious despair.

No wonder that Cora Levinson, a twenty-three years old American nurse who was working in London thanks to an Oxford fellowship, felt quite confused by that whole situation. She loved her job, she really did, but she had never taken such an interest for a patient before…

She remembered vividly the night she had first seen him: he had been taken to the hospital on a Friday, in a rush, while she was on shift. She was a nurse in the pediatric department, but still she had given her colleagues a hand when she had seen the conditions of that young man. Black was the color of his police uniform. Blue was the color of his eyes. And red, dark and grim red was the color of his blood, that was everywhere, everywhere: on his back, on the stretcher… on her hands…

They had urgently operated him and had managed to save his life. Cora, deeply worried about that stranger, had asked Anna, a colleague, who was that young man and what had happened to him; Anna didn't know much, but she was sure of two things: his name was Robert Crawley and he had been shot in the back.

Then the rumors had started to crawl on the walls of every department, until they reached her ears as well: apparently, Robert Crawley was the son of one of the richest and noblest families in England, established in Yorkshire; he had decided not to take on his father's business and had become a policeman instead. Now, he had been shot and, as most of nurses kept on whispering while they were on lunch break, he could no longer walk.

And somehow, somehow Cora had found herself more and more attached to that Robert Crawley… although they had never shared a single word. She didn't pity him, it wasn't that: she just… well, she didn't know. She cared about him. She would take a look at his room every time she could, when she passed through that department to reach hers, and the view in front of her eyes would always be the same: Robert Crawley sat on his bed, silent, motionless, lost in his mind. His eyes always wandered, looking somewhere afar or maybe, maybe just looking nowhere. Those two big blue eyes –Cora had noticed their particular colour the first time she had seen him, they were dark blue, as the night sea under a pale moonlight- seemed filled with nothing. Which of course was a contradiction, and still that was she felt when she looked at him: a once fierce young man whose passions and dreams had turned to dust.

And so, so she saw him every day and yet, she had never talked to him.

But that changed on a night, a dark night when a pale full moon stretched its white fingers inside the halls of the hospital, lighting them faintly, creating a sort of unique quiet magic, a magic Cora didn't notice at first… but that was just because she had no idea that night was going to change her whole life.

She was on night shift and was walking along the corridors, making sure everybody was fast asleep. It was pretty late –one a.m., probably, she wasn't sure, she never use the smartphone at work and she had never had a watch- when she heard a distant sound. She stopped, trying to listen more carefully. For a moment, she thought she had imagined the whole business, but then the faraway noise began once again, and now she was sure…

It was the sound of someone crying. And it came from Robert Crawley's room.

Cora couldn't decide what to do… going in? But what if… Before she could shape a single doubt in her mind, her worries acted on impulse, and she found herself tapping on the white wooden door of the room. Her heart was beating so fast… no one answered. Taking a deep breath, Cora decided there was only one sensible thing to do: enter. The sole idea of going in made her soft cheeks turn into a decisive shade of pink, but she had no choice. Her arm stretched, she reached for the door and silently opened it.

What she saw, shocked her much more than she'd expected: it was Robert Crawley. His head in his buried in his hands, his body shaking, while resounding sighs and sobs slipped out of his open swollen lips.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I…", she whispered softly, careful not to wake up the patients in the other rooms, but the words just came out of her lips muffled and confused: it hurt her to see him like that. She had never spoken to him before, but it hurt, and it stung, and it pierced her heart, and it made her feel like she couldn't breathe.

"I… I am fine", he managed to stammer, smiling sadly through the tears that covered the stubble that was decisively growing on his cheeks, "I didn't mean to bother you on your night shift. Please, miss, go on, I am sure you have far more important things to do".

Cora swallowed, panic and pain oppressing her… No, no! She had to be strong, now: she straightened her back and entered the room. "I am a nurse. It is no bother, that's my job", she replied. Yet, inside her, her mind was playing his voice on repeat, again and again. She lowered her eyes for an imperceptible moment, overcome by an awareness: the first time she heard his voice, she heard his sad tone, filled with sorrow… she nervously began to play with the hem of her hospital gown. She betted his voice sounded so sweet, when he was happy… she betted it didn't take his deep and steady tone much to become a high and pleasant ring. A laughter, perhaps.

But his face, at the moment, with his cheeks sunken and pale, his eyes two dark and deep holes and his lips dried out and tightly clasped together, just seemed unable to laugh at all.

The young man shook his head, and his curls danced slowly under the moonlight. She had never been so close to him; actually, she had never even been in the same room as him. How strange it was: Cora felt the need of studying his face, that face she had glanced rapidly at least a thousand times while walking frantically back and forth in the halls of the hospital, but she pulled herself together, clearing her throat. Why did she feel like that? She couldn't quite understand it… not rationally, at least. But then again, Cora had always been like that: she was fifty percent mind and fifty percent heart, which meant that she would be logical and clever, but that she would always give herself completely to anyone or anything she loved. And that was also the reason she was a nurse: she had had to study hard and use her brains at their best to achieve good grades, obtain a fellowship and go to Oxford, but the truth was that she had made such an effort only because becoming a nurse was her lifelong dream. Not a doctor, not a surgeon, she wanted to be a nurse, and help directly those in need of support. She just liked the idea of being there for someone… it made her feel peaceful, satisfied and complete… and now, she wanted to be there for that Robert Crawley who had caught her attention and didn't seem too keen on the idea of letting it go.

"Is it also your job to take care of a man who's crying like a baby?", he asked, shrugging vigorously.

Cora got closer to his bed, trying to smile, feeling the need of cheering him up a bit, of reassuring him. "If this man is admitted to this hospital, it is", she just stated, with a determined tone that allowed no objections. She wanted to look professional, even if she wasn't so sure how long she still could hide her curiosity, "I may not be your nurse, but I am here, if you need help", she concluded, and, for the very first time, she found herself in front of her mysterious man, who was sitting upright in bed. She immediately noticed a series of shivers running through his massive body… yes, massive: he was tall and robust; somehow, he managed to look distinguished even in his white, loose pyjama. He smelled good, too: was that a sweet scent of mint and whiskey? Once again, she lowered her blue eyes, feeling a strange warm sensation inside her chest, followed by the accelerated beat of her heart, but she made use of all her self-control –damn, she was a nurse, she knew a couple things about cold blood!- and gently pushed him against the pillow, handing him the hem of the quilt and tucking him in.

Meanwhile, he was resolutely staring at her, Cora could sense it on her skin, and she immediately blushed. Why on earth was he doing that? She silently thanked the darkness of the night, the only cover for her red cheeks and ears -her ears would always turn a bright shade of pink when she felt embarrassed.

"Can you fix these?", he suddenly asked, his voice low, but distorted, abruptly angry, with a tone that almost made Cora jump. She noticed he was pointing at his legs with a melancholic grin, "Fix these. That's the only way you can help me. Otherwise, you may as well go. I am a lost cause".

What had started as a slow whisper gradually soon became a roar. Cora just stood there, motionless, listening to his words. He felt a lost cause. Those words made her heart race and her eyes fill with tears… tears she pulled back. She understood why he was behaving that way: it was the trauma. God only knew what he had been through! Still, she felt hurt by his voice, by the raging sarcasm of his tone… A tone that only meant one thing: he didn't want her to be there with him.

Silence had fallen heavily between them, and yet Cora was sure she had heard her own heart break.

Clenching her fists –she found out her palms were sweating… but why?-, she turned around, ready to go away; maybe her mysterious gentleman wasn't so gentle, after all… Before she could even take a step towards the door, she felt five strong fingers touch her sleeve: he had grabbed her arm. Anyway, he wasn't being rude, on the contrary: his grasp was firm, but gentle.. a bit desperate, maybe, which made it automatically also a bit romantic. It seemed impossible that those two big hands could be so nice, that they could touch with such tenderness. And still, they did.

"Miss…", he murmured, and his voice was soft, now. It almost felt like a caress.

Cora turned around to face him, only to find out new tears had started flowing from his eyes… She was so close, she was sure she could actually glimpse the blue sea inside them. "I'm so, so sorry, I was being rude and stupid", he stuttered, and he gritted his teeth, angry… With himself, probably. "You were trying to be nice and I just…".

Surprising even herself, Cora placed a hand on his cheek, cupping it, and started to wipe his tears with her thumb; the instant she realized what she was doing, it was too late… and so she kept on rubbing his short beard, as if it was ordinary. But damn, it wasn't! What on earth had come over her? But, to be honest, she did like that sensation… a lot: the warmth of his face against her fingers, the tickle of his beard… Once again, her heart was decisively getting in the way of her mind. She stopped massaging his cheeks only when she was sure there were no more tears, and so she went to sit on the edge of the little bed. All the time of her sweet ministration, Cora had spied the expression on the man's face: she had glanced astonishment in his features, astonishment and something like a quiet trace of pleasure. A tender and genuine pleasure.

"Don't apologize", she just said, "I know you've been through a lot… or, at least, so they told me".

The look of pleasure in his eyes still wasn't gone when he spoke again, serious, but no longer aggressive. He sounded… relieved. Eager to talk, to share. How long had he craved to speak to someone? "What have you heard?", he asked, looking straight into her eyes.

Cora moved nervously and imperceptibly on the bed: she was going to sound like a stalker, she was sure about it. She had asked a lots of questions about him, to her colleagues and some doctors. "That you are a policeman. That they shot you. That you can no longer walk", she mumbled, her brows suddenly knitted, "And nothing more… as I said, I am not your nurse".

"You do know some things, even if you're not my nurse", he joked, but there was no gladness in his words… Maybe because what he was going to say was very, very painful. "Well, it's not like I can't walk at all. They say I will be able to stand with two crutches, soon enough. Not that I will ever run or jump again, of course… For the moment I just have to rest and wait… I must thank the son of a bitch who shot me in the last lumbar vertebras. Had he hit me in thoracic area, I probably wouldn't even be able to move a finger or breathe".

"Or you'd be dead", Cora stated, ruefully.

Robert Crawley grinned. "Which was probably a better option than the one I got".

In the darkness of the warm bedroom, Cora's face turned red once again, but this time it wasn't awkwardness: she suddenly felt her chest on fire, as if she was going to explode. Which she did, eventually. "Oh, shut the fuck up", she heard herself say, before she could even think or stop herself from swearing so openly in front of a man she barely knew. "You are alive. You will be able to stand, soon enough. You should feel grateful, and merry, and…".

Once again, his temper showed, and so, his tongue sharpened as well. "Yeah, and will I be able to pee without the help of a nurse? Will I be able to make love to a woman again?", he snared, and tried to stand, so he could face on the edge of bed… there was only one problem: he had forgotten about his stitches and his partial paralysis. A shot of pain made him fumble, gasping with his eyes wide open, his hands in search of something to hold on to: he was clearly unable to breathe. Immediately, Cora's instinct acted for her: placing a hand on his chest, she helped him to lie down and mimicked a deep breath with her nose and her mouth. Following her instructions, the young man's breath soon steadied. He looked at her… he was smiling.

He brushed his fingers against her arm, an unexpected touch that made her shiver. "I am so… sorry. I wish I wasn't like this. I usually am not, I don't know…", he whispered, his weak voice nothing more than a murmur, as he tried to justify himself.

Cora politely interrupted him. "PTSD", she just stated, shrugging.

Looking at her from below, he furrowed his brows in a puzzled expression. "Beg your pardon?".

"Posttraumatic Stress Disorder", she explained simply, "You've lived a shocking experience and your brain is responding to the panic and the sadness wearing an armour of anger. You must be careful".

Still sprawled under the covers like a baby –his expression was always a bit childish, actually-, Robert tried to make a joke. "I can only be careful", he exclaimed, his deep voice regaining its strength little by little, "It's not like I can walk towards the window and jump".

Cora just rolled her eyes, in the attempt of cheering him up. Still, the reference to suicide had made her pretty uneasy. "You know what I mean".

It was his time to roll his eyes. "Alright, miss, at your orders", he announced, saluting her to tease her, "And what should I do?".

"I am not your nurse, so…".

He interrupted her with a gesture. "Yes, you're not my nurse. Still, you can give me advice".

In response, Cora chewed her lower lip and her cheek. "I guess… you should talk to someone. Let out everything you're keeping bottled up inside", she said softly, "And I am here, you know. I can listen", she added, and she meant it. She had never meant something that much: she felt she could help him, for real. There was some kind of… chemistry, between them, it was clear, and she was determined to use it to have him smile genuinely once again.

At first, Cora thought Robert wouldn't talk. She'd heard he had refused to speak to some psychologists and psychiatrists, so why would he speak to her? A skinny, young American girl he didn't even know? But Robert, apparently, was there to surprise her, because as she finished speaking, he began to talk slowly. "I was on duty Friday night, patrolling one of the main streets with the car with my colleague, Bates. It's always the same, on Friday: you get a thousand calls from innocent, good people who find themselves witnessing every kind of little crime or incident caused by some drunk: sometimes it's a car accident, sometimes it's a fight, sometimes some theft. On Friday, we got a call from the headquarters: someone had been seen breaking inside a house, just a couple streets away from the block we were patrolling. Two men had been noticed by an elderly woman while they were breaking a window, and they were both hooded. We were the only one who could intervene… and so we did", he paused, his eyes once again looking afar. Maybe, every time he did that, he was living that night all over again. "We ran the sirens and got there as quickly as possible. We are both very prepared agents, Bates and I, and still… we had no idea we were walking into a trap". He stopped once again and looked away, as if the memory was too much for him to bear.

"If you don't want to talk about it…", she tried to mumble, but he shook his head, while something new had appeared in his eyes: was that determination?

"No, I must go on", he stated firmly, inhaling as much air as he could, and kept on talking, his voice a distant whisper, "The point is… They were waiting for us. The two criminals, I mean… They were waiting for me and Bates. When we entered the house, we found one of the them right in front of us, his hands up as a sign of surrender… But that wasn't the truth: while he was distracting us, his partner was hiding in the shadows… and he shot a single bullet". His eyes fell on the bandage that covered his belly as well as his back. "He hit me and I fell, and Bates was so worried about me, he let them escape… I, I… I don't know why me. They took nothing from the house… They just wounded me, and then they were gone", he stumbled on his own words, "I think you know the rest of the story".

While he had been talking slowly, Cora had listened carefully to every single word of his story, noticing every single change of tone or pause. Once again, she wanted to help him so desperately… to make it up to him for this slap fate had given him, without even bothering to explain him why. Anyway, when it came to reply, she could only think of a wide range of banalities. Sighing, she chose one: "I guess you would like to be with your family, in such a difficult moment".

Robert made a funny expression. "With my family? Oh, no. Mama wouldn't help me relax, you can be sure of that. And father, he'd tell me only one thing, over and over again: I told you, son, not to become a policeman. As always, I was right. He already said the exact same thing when he came to visit me after the operation, so…", he stated, his voice dripping with melancholy. Did his father really tell him such a terrible thing? She couldn't believe it, it was too horrible to think. Robert probably noticed her face had darkened, so he quickly changed topic, "Still, I do miss my dog".

Cora couldn't help but chuckle, a little relieved. "Your dog?", she asked, clearly jokingly, "Er, how very… romantic".

"There's nothing more romantic than the bromance between Pharaoh and me".

"Pharaoh?", she couldn't help but chuckle, placing a wild lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. She would always do it when she was flirting… but wait, was she actually flirting with him? "What kind of name that even is?".

Robert pouted, crossing his arms, and pretending to be terribly insulted by her question. From the initial tension, the atmosphere had become a playful one. "Oh, come on. The pharaoh was the title of the monarch of the ancient Egypt", he explained, "As I said, I have many passions: history is one of them. Egyptian history in particular. And then I love football, cinema, rock music, books…". He paused, as if a dreadful awareness had just crossed his mind for the first time. "Or, at least, I had many passions… I'm not sure what I'll be able to do, now. They say I'll only be partially paraplegic, but does it make any fucking difference, when I will live as a cripple my whole damn life? Well, at least I won't miss my job… I wanted to become a policeman to help people, that was my dream, but it turns out most of my brave, handsome and young colleagues only wanted to get ahead, to become bloody detectives and that was it… who fucking cared for people? Shit, I did, of course, and that's probably the reason I never got a promotion".

An intense silence fell between them and after a few seconds, Robert sighed. "Sorry, I shouldn't be talking like that".

Cora smiled softly at his authentic concern. "Why, are you afraid to shock me?", she replied, "Me, the young girl who decided to dedicate her life to attend people who bleed, scream and are about to die every day?". However, she suddenly felt upset: so he had lost confidence in himself and in his dream as well. No wonder he was so miserable.

His voice shook her from her thoughts. "Um, so you nurses are basically policemen without guns".

"I do wish I had a gun from time to time… But then of course I'm American…", she joked.

He smiled at her words, but it was clear he was serious and honest, this time. "What I meant is, it does take some courage to be nurses".

She nodded. "Yes, you policemen get all the TV series and the glory, but we're heroes too".

He raised both his hands, as if he was surrendering. "Hey, I'm on your side", he exclaimed, ironically, "And, by the way, you had E.R. with George Clooney and still have Grey's Anatomy. That's not nothing".

They both grinned and Cora took advantage of the good mood they had created to ask him a question she was pretty inquiring about. "Why are you in this room all alone?".

In reply, Robert snorted, but he wasn't angry at her. "My parents thought it would be better. To have a room just for me, I mean… they paid the hospital for it, I guess. You'll have more space, they said. Yes, as if I needed space… to do what? Fucking walk? Guess what? I cannot!", he exclaimed, opening his arms and gesticulating, "No, what I needed was someone next to me. Someone I could talk to".

Immediately, Cora's lips automatically replied to his words. "You can talk to me".

He looked at her, a bit surprised. He leaned back against his pillow and crossed his arms on his chest. "To you? The one who keeps on saying she's not my nurse so she knows nothing and can do nothing?".

"Yes, that one… I think some interesting conversations may turn out". And before she could realize what she was doing, she took his hand in hers. She gulped: she'd almost expected his palm to be cold, but… it wasn't. On the contrary, it was surprisingly warm, and nice to touch. His skin wasn't rough, but soft… she betted his hair were soft too and so, she abruptly decided to have the satisfaction of removing a tuft of his curls from his forehead. She didn't know what she was doing, nor why she was doing it… But damn it, his sweet perfume was all around her, and she did want to live a little!

He laughed. And for the first time, Cora knew that laughter was real. There was no bitterness in it, no concealed suffering, no dark sarcasm. And it was just like she had imagined, a sweet and lovely sound, a sound that made her heart want to sing out loud. He laughed because he wanted to. Maybe because she was holding his hand, who knew.

Robert squeezed her hand a little tighter and their finger intertwined. "Yes. I believe you're right", he muttered, "I think we should do this again".

Deep inside her, Cora knew the timing was perfect. They were close, their breaths caressing the bare skin of their neck, their hands grasped, their eyes fixed on their faces… She could have kissed him. She wondered what he tasted like, but… no, no! She had to be professional. What was she doing? Suddenly blushing, she stood up from the bed, wobbling a bit awkwardly. Her lips still plucked at the idea of that kiss she'd never given. Playing nervously with her thumb nail, she managed to stammer a few words: "Good", she mumbled, "Now, I see you are better. I must get going or they'll fire me". She said goodbye with a ragtag smile, but before she could leave the room, a voice stopped her.

His voice… his happy voice.

"Miss", Robert called her and she turned around to meet his gaze, "So… you'll be back?".

Once again, Cora placed a tuft of hair behind her ear with a little smile. Yes, she definitely was flirting. But what about him? What did he think about her? "Of course", she just replied softly, and was about to exit once again, but she couldn't.

"Wait…", he exclaimed, this time with much more ardour, "Tomorrow?".

Cora thought about it for a moment… and why not? Apparently, he sought to see her again… and so did she. "Yes, tomorrow night".

She had already opened the door when a single word held her. "Sorry…", she heard him mumble.

Cora turned around, pretending to be angry, but the bright smile on her face easily gave her away. "What is it this time?", she exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

The young man smiled back; he was so stunningly beautiful when he smiled, his little lips curved, his eyes and his whole face lighten up in joy. "I am Robert, Robert Crawley. May I ask you what's your name?".

Cora felt her heart running wild inside her chest, though she didn't understand why: she had always known his name, why was she feeling like a teenager with her first crush? She covered her mouth for a second before answering, hiding that smile that was getting wider and wider.

"My name is Cora Levinson. And I am immensely please to meet you… Robert".

So… Well, if you follow me, you know what you may be thinking: you're already working on another long fic, why begin this? That's a good question, actually. Point is, I was randomly watching Rizzoli & Isle and an episode gave me the inspiration to write this new AU and I just couldn't stop myself from writing it. Anyway, I plan this to be quite a short ff, seven or eight chapters, so I guess I'll be done with it quite soon.
Anyway, what did you guys think about this? I'm not completely convinced of Cora's characterization, but you tell me.
Also, please, REVIEW. And not just because it helps me write more and more, but also because I know I'm going to touch some delicate topics (depression, PTSD and so on), so please, feel free to correct me if I write something that makes no sense. I'm researching a lot for this ff, but still, I want to know what you have to say. However, thanks for reading!