**OK – so this is my 2nd fic on this topic – but this one is based off what actually happened in the show on Sunday –SPOILERS for season 5. What I would love to happen. One shot. **
Her smile had remained on her face as she had greeted their guests by his side. She had played the role of Countess so long it was almost laughable how easy it was to pretend. To keep her shoulders back, head up; smile on … even when her heart was breaking within her chest. Even when her stomach churned with nervousness and fear she was able to play the part of Countess of Grantham to perfection. She had been trained well. Years of dealing with Violet's snide remarks and constant barbs had shaped her into what Violet had wanted her to be … the perfect replacement. She had even managed to offer idle chit chat and attempts at conversation with him, which he ignored without preamble. He had merely been going through the motions, but his act had not been as convincing as hers.
What did that mean she wondered? Did it mean he cared more, or less? Was it that his hand was in pain, or his heart? She could not be sure. He hadn't talked to her, he hadn't even looked at her – as if she had been caught doing something sordid. As if, he had walked in on her and Mr. Bricker locked in a passionate embrace, rolling between her sheets, in the throws of passion – the thought made her sick. The entire situation made her sick to her stomach and she placed a hand over it as if to stop herself casting up her accounts. Mr. Bricker had made a mess of everything. Why had he not simply enjoyed talking to her, hearing her opinions, discussing art? She had thought she had made a friend, had insisted so to Robert … and then in one foul swoop she had lost both a friend, and it seemed the respect of her husband … or perhaps the husband himself. He hadn't spoken to her the entire day, the entire party, the entire evening – and now, she stood pacing in her room waiting, hoping, wishing that he would walk through the joining door as he always did. That he would remove his robe and place it on the chair as he always did. That he would complain to her about someone, something, anything … as he always did. She wanted it to happen. But despite the wanting, she knew it would not. He would not. With nothing left to do, she climbed into bed, pulled the covers over her head and cried herself to sleep.
It had been 3 days. 3 days of avoiding the very sight of her and heaven help him he was still mad. Bloody ropeable! He could not pull his emotions into check and if he was honest he didn't want to. He had told her that Bricker was flirting – God, she was flirting too and he had told her. Told her … but had she listened? He had walked in on the evidence of that. At first his anger had been at Bricker. How dare he assume to make advances on a Countess?! His countess! Who did that measly academic rodent think he was? And then to talk to him the way he had … Robert had had no choice but to throw the first punch. And it had felt bloody good to do it too. To wipe that smug, all knowing smirk off his pathetic face. Cora's screams to stop had not even registered in his brain until much later, not that he would have listened.
But then his anger had changed, it had happened quite quickly and it drove him mad. He was still mad at Bricker, would still wallop him if he ever saw the man again, but the moment he saw Cora again the next day he had been filled with rage towards her. He didn't want to talk with her, and didn't trust himself to for that matter. He had told her. Bloody told her and she had not listened to him. But that wasn't the root of it. He was down right livid with her because he was terrified. He was bone numbingly terrified of what he would have seen had he walked in 5 minutes later. He knew she hadn't invited Bricker to her room, she would never have, but that man was a scholar … wordsy and poetic and had spent the better part of a month encouraging her and making her feel important. He was terrified that if given enough time to talk that Bricker could have convinced her … he clenched his fist again at the thought. There would have been nothing to stop Bricker just taking her in his arms and kissing her, whether she wanted him to or not … and once he had done that, once the in initial connection had been made would Cora have stopped? Had she only refused him out of duty, or was it love? So he had ignored her. He couldn't talk to her when he couldn't trust himself. So he let the days pass by, and he perfected the art of avoidance.
5 days! 5 days of silence and anger and avoidance and now she was the one angry. It wasn't her fault! She hadn't asked him to her room, she had refused him … what more did Robert expect her to do? At least she wasn't the one moping and fuming and acting like a 3 year old. Sybbie didn't even throw tantrums like this and she was a 3 year old! And now, now she had been forced to endure the embarrassment of what could only be described as a lesson in marital harmony from her mother in law. Isobel had been all too happy to put her 2 cents in too, and she wasn't even married any more … not yet. Newly engaged and all of sudden she was an expert on marriage. Cora hadn't meant to sound … rude … well, a little, but she could not take it. From either of them. Robert's parents had hardly been a love match, and Isobel had been married for all of 18 years … neither of them had put in the time she had. 34 years. 34 bloody years of marriage … and now he was planning on ignoring her for what? Something that was not her fault?
By the time she got to her room she was fuming. She would not be surprised at all if smoke came out her ears. She threw herself into her chair and began the process of undressing herself. She was too restless, and irritated to have Baxter fusing over her.
It was as she pulled out the last of her hair pins that she heard it. The sound of Robert's door and him entering his room. She knew he wouldn't come through to see her. He hadn't so much as glanced in her direction in 5 damn days, why would that change now. She wanted to cry, she wanted to throw a vase at the door, or scream, or pull at her hair with frustration … but she wasn't made at herself, she was mad at him … and before she knew what she was doing she had crossed the room and burst through his door.
2 sets of eyes met hers and she silently rebuked herself. Bates! Damn. He must have walked in at the same time as Robert, she hadn't heard him. They had only started the process of changing and Robert was staring at her with his dinner pants on, white shirt unbuttoned and untucked, - jacket, tie, waistcoat, shoes, socks all removed.
"You can leave us Bates." She said without missing a beat, she did not have time to dither about. Robert would react in a moment, but for now she had the upper hand. She wished she had not started undressing as she would have felt more in control if she was still dressed. At least she still had her dinner dress on, but her hair was down and loose, her jewellery was off, and her shoes removed. It irritated her that Bates looked to Robert quickly for approval before turning for the door. Did no one listen to her now!?
"Please tell Baxter she may go to bed, I will take care of myself. And you should go home to Bates." She had used her most Countess like tone, the haughty one that she hated but kept in her pocket in case she needed it. Even Violet didn't question her when she used it. It had worked again and Bates simply nodded as he walked out the door, closing it in his wake.
Now that they were alone she didn't quite know what to do. And then he spoke, and she had waited too long and she kicked herself for it.
"What was that all about?" his tone was brisk and irritated.
"You wont talk to me, I would like to know why." She responded clearly, evenly.
Robert looked at her in shock and turned around to face her more fully.
"Are you quite serious, you don't know why I am angry? Do you not recall the events that took place in your room a few nights ago?" he shook his head as if speaking to a simpleton and Cora saw red.
"Of course I do. I am not an idiot Robert. What I don't know is why you are angry about it? You have no cause to be mad at me, and I have certainly done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment from you!"
Robert turned around giving her his back as he let the words sink in, then collecting his response he whipped around to face her, his words coming out in a heated rage. "There was a man in your room Cora. God! How would you like me to react? He was in there to sleep with you, to seduce you, to take you to bed … how should I feel?"
Cora's hands flew out from her sides in an angry display of emotion and she yelled her words back at him, "You should feel glad that your wife didn't invite him in there. You should feel happy that she said no to him and asked him to leave, that he was about to leave when you arrived."
"And how do I know that?" Robert yelled back, approaching her with a step forwards. Cora's face went white at the insinuation. "How the hell do I know that? You flirted him with all month, here, in London, God knows what you 2 said to each other and then here he is standing in his robe in MY wife's room. How should I know you were rejecting him, maybe he was just defending your honor ..."
Cora felt the sting in her hand as she slapped him hard across the cheek, her hand tingled painfully but she did not care. "How dare you?! How dare you speak to me that way. I have done nothing. NOTHING, to deserve this from you. I may have flirted, you are right, I flirted with him because it felt good to have someone pay attention to me … but I never did anything inappropriate, I didn't invite him, I didn't want him, and I would have refused him .. and you should bloody well know that." Cora turned to leave, her heart pounding noisily in her chest, her blood boiling with rage. As she reached the door handle Robert's hands found her upper arms and pulled her around violently.
"Don't you dare walk away from me." He said through clenched teeth.
"Don't tell me what to do. You could have spoken to me all week, but you couldn't care less, you were too worried about your damned pride and your precious anger to find the time to concern yourself with dealing with me." Cora spat the words at him as if they were poison. She was so angry she could feel her body heating up, her cheeks flushing pink, her breathing coming in ragged spurts.
"I could care less about my pride." Robert spat back, "I have spent the week angry, and bloody well scared to death. Scared that you did want him, that I had lost you, that we would end up like all the others … and it makes me so damned angry I want to beat Bricker to a pulp … I want to rage against you for inviting him here, and I want the chance to feel something other than afraid." His voice was raspy from yelling, his body rigid with anger and his blood ran swiftly through him veins. Without thinking about it he pushed Cora roughly against the door, slammed his body against hers and pressed his lips urgently to hers.
It was rough, it was angry, it was full of every emotion they had both felt over the last 5 days, over the last weeks. The miscommunication, the fear, the uncertainty came to the surface as Robert pushed against his wife forcefully. It was moments before he realized she was not fighting back. What he had originally thought was her pushing him away was actually the feel of her pulling his unbuttoned dinner shirt off his body and down his arms. He let go of her one arm at a time and flung the shirt to the floor in a heap. Her hands were all over his chest, scratching his sides and running along his back pulling him against her, as if he could be any closer. His pelvis was ground against hers and he could feel her ribs against his body, her breasts squashed beneath him, his hands on her shoulders holding her still. His mouth assaulted hers roughly, and she bit his bottom lip in response. If he hadn't heard her moan of pleasure he would have considered stopping, but she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and in the same primal way.
Rough, and raw and honest.
He felt her hands slide down his back to his pants and pushed them down. Without stepping out of them he slid his hands quickly from her shoulders to her backside, lifting her up and pushing her against the door some more as she flung her legs around his waist. Moving her undergarments roughly and ripping them with his fingers her freed her enough to enter her quickly, with one all encompassing thrust that caused her back to pound against the door in a loud thud. Her lips came to his neck in response and her hands wound around his head pulling him against her. He repeated his motion, entering her again and again, each time pushing her against the door, hearing the thud, feeling the roughness of their joining. In the back of his mind he told himself to be more careful, but she was scratching her nails across his shoulders and biting his neck roughly and it spurred him on. He heard her groan and pull her legs against his buttocks and he forgot everything but the feel of her – the need for her.
She was his. Had always been his. Would always be his. He thrust against her purposefully two more times and then with immense effort he slowed them down, moved his lips to her neck in a gentle caress before lifting her closer and carrying her to his bed.
She was his.
His wife.
His love.
His desire.
His heart.
As he tumbled her against his sheets, his lips caressing her neck, his hands undressing her properly, his body entering hers with a softer pace, he was reminded on his vows.
"For richer for poorer, for better for worse, til death do us part."
And he knew once more that he meant them.