A one-shot attempt to redeem Robert somewhat for his actions in S2 - based loosely on E8 previews. Written very quickly in one day, which for me is pretty miraculous. (I promise I haven't given up on Bad Beginning - it's just that every time I try to work on the next chapter something else comes up that I just have to write!)
"If she survives the night, she'll live."
Robert gently took Cora's hand. He had been instructed to take her pulse, yet now her hand was in his he couldn't resist running his thumb down each of the slender fingers. He remembered in happier times he would look deeply into her eyes and finally raise her hand to his lips. Cora had often teased him (old-fashioned English chivalry, she called it) yet she never once complained. He moved his fingers to her wrist and pressed down. The feel of her warm, sticky hand in his brought a lump to his throat. He swallowed hard and concentrated on counting the beats.
What had happened to them? He had been so angry with her lately, raging with her only this morning. It all seemed so trivial now. In truth, he was afraid, afraid the world had moved on and he was left standing still. The army didn't want him and the girls had grown up long ago. But Cora…she had adapted to the war, of course she had, in the same way she had adapted when she had first arrived at Downton. Yet it had been a team effort them. They had encouraged each other, supported each other, needed each other until finally realising they loved each other. Now...she didn't need him anymore. The more afraid he was of losing her and being left behind, the angrier he got and the more he pushed her away.
He dutifully filled in the notebook by the bed. What was he even doing here? He had insisted on staying with her through the night, despite the concerned faces of his daughters, who all promised to check in on him. Sybil insisted on giving him detailed instructions before leaving, prefacing them with a worried "Papa, you don't do illness." She was right - it was always her mother who instinctively knew what to do whenever one of the girls fell ill. Yet after twenty-nine years of marriage, he felt he at least owed his wife this. He wanted to be there for her.
He forced himself to look at her properly. She was shivering uncontrollably and seemed to have such difficulty breathing, each breath coming in laboured gasps. He turned away, eyes tightly shut and hand clamped over his mouth, trying desperately to control his emotions. The sobs came anyway as he pleaded and bargained with a higher power to spare her. A wave of nausea hit him and he raced to the window, hurriedly discarding jacket, tie and waistcoat as he did so.
He slowly breathed in, trying to cool down and get the unpleasant smells of illness and medicine out of his head. Once he had regained some of his composure, he turned round and saw Cora's room as if for the first time. He always loved the lightness and femininity of this room. Until recently, it had been his sanctuary from the cares of the outside world. His eyes glanced to the dressing table. He had once studied the potions, brushes and perfumes, wondering both what they were and why she needed so many. (Cora mischievously offered to ask O'Brien to show him.) He turned round to the bed they had shared for almost three decades. He couldn't remember a decision ever being made about sleeping together. He just found that he couldn't bear to leave her side after the intimacy and passion they had shared. His own bed seemed cold and empty without her. So he stayed in his wife's room more and more until it just became another familiar, accepted routine.
The bowl and towels next to the bed wrenched him from his reminiscences and reminded him of Sybil's instructions. Rolling up his sleeves, he went to the bowl, carefully testing the water before wetting the towels. A rasping cough from the bed made him turn round. Cora was staring at him, confusion turning to amusement and wonder when she noticed what he was doing.
"Darling."
I haven't used a beta reader for this one, so I'd really appreciate your feedback (positive or otherwise!)