So there was a moment during the premiere episode that inspired this one-shot. I couldn't resist because it hurt my heart so much, and I needed some more Cobert moments in my life. Title was inspired from the song Paperweight by Joshua Radin and Schuyler Fisk, which is a beautiful song everyone should listen to a billion times in their life. Anyway, feedback (both good and bad) is greatly appreciated. :)
She hears Violet's sharp words before witnessing how Robert receives them as her mother-in-law forces her into a farewell embrace. Once relinquished from her momentary duty, she turns to catch his downcast expression, hands clenching into fists as he stalks in the direction of the library. She feels her heart pull apart at the seams for being present during the brief scolding that no doubt embarrassed him. Even if Robert was wrong in wanting to shield Mary from managing the affairs of the estate if not to ensure her safety as well as maintain his status, Violet's brash comment could not be wholly justified. Her husband might be stubborn in areas of progress and forward thinking, but she would never doubt that his intentions were anything but good.
Letting out an uneasy breath, she touches Edith's shoulder to regain attention from the group of ladies. "Please excuse me, I have to attend to something in the library," She intones softly, her eyes lifting to meet Violet's puzzled gaze once more. Inclining her head, she reiterates with finality, "Goodnight Mamma."
Whirling around she retraces the path her husband took just a few moments earlier without looking back to notice the perplexed glances exchanged Edith and Mamma. The conviction in her gait echoes throughout the nearly silent hall, and she doesn't slow pace even when she swiftly pulls open the door to the library and enters. The door clicks back into place behind her, causing Robert to turn from the drink cart. His icy gaze fixates on her before he peers down into his glass and huffs, "Have you come to tell me I'm wrong as well?"
Taken aback by the gruff edges in his words she lifts an incredulous brow. Setting her mouth into a terse line in order to keep her frazzled emotions in check she mutters a simple, "No."
His hardened defense begins to crumble upon noticing the softness in her tone. He runs his teeth along his lower lip before questioning more genially, "But you don't agree with my opinions on how we should be handling Mary?"
Her mouth twists to the side with uncertainty, "Not really."
Robert nods silently before taking a long sip of scotch from his glass, and turning away.
She feels a pang of guilt for being so brash with him earlier, not fully comprehending the effect everyone's disapproval of his opinions would have until this very moment. "But," She intones, taking several bold steps closer to him, "just because I don't agree with your opinions, doesn't mean I don't value them."
He looks back to her curiously, clearly not expecting this sort of response from her, given their earlier disagreement in bed that morning. She suspects he's tired of the constant criticism thrown at him, given his altruistic desire to protect their grieving daughter. A desire that binds her to him and both of them to Mary's pain in a way no one else can ultimately comprehend.
So Cora presses a hand on top of the table, peering up at him with a soft smile. "I understand your intentions. I know you love her more than anything, because I do too. And to have to see her through this hurts you more than you'd care to admit."
Robert glances down between them. The muscles in his jaw tighten, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as he contemplates the significance of her words and applies them to their situation. She reaches a hand out to cover his, but he doesn't realize and steps aside. He starts towards the fireplace, leaning his arm against the mantle.
She exhales, continuing on in a voice that gains momentum, "I know you want to protect her. I know you want nothing more than to hold her in your arms like when she was a little girl and tell her nothing's ever going to harm her again. I know this because…" She feels the knot in the back of her throat grow larger as her thoughts reach the same place as his. Swallowing back her emotions she admits quietly, "…everything inside me wants nothing more than to do those things as well."
He pivots on the spot, regarding her with a studious gaze. "But you won't do any of that?" He probes with a genuine desire to understand.
She hesitates for a moment, trying to express her views without creating more tension between them. Slowly shaking her head she tells him calmly, "I don't think we can anymore." Cora moves to close the space between them, "I don't think anything we say or do is going to make much difference because...none of us can truly understand what she's going through. And I don't think any of us, should keep on pretending we have some kind of understanding as to how she feels or how we believe her life should progress. But her life needs to progress, Robert."
His eyes align with hers again. This time it's her face that contorts from feeling a certain aspect of Mary's pain. Casting her gaze down into the flickering flames, she feels her vision sting and blur. "I do not want our eldest child to spend the rest of her days consumed by such darkness. And I know you don't either but…" Her voice catches rather dejectedly.
She hears the faint clinking of glass on stone, like he's set his drink down. Then she inhales sharply whenever she feels his knuckles gently caress the fullness of her cheek. "No, I don't want that for her," He affirms kindly. "I do want her to move forward with her life, Cora. But I worry."
Cora faces him, a weak yet hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You aren't alone in feeling that."
His mouth upturns as well and he nods in agreement. Pulling his hand away he from her face, he rubs the back of his neck. "It's difficult for me to see what Mary's going through and not think about...the future."
It takes her a moment, but once she notices the wary glint clouding his blue eyes, she comes to understand. Matthew's untimely death served as a quiet reminder of the fragility of the human condition. Of their condition. Although she never expected it would affect her husband so deeply, since he talked more easily about these things than she ever could. But perhaps losing two children in such a short span of time makes him all the more aware the majority of their days are fast behind them.
Cora suddenly takes his hand in both of hers, drawing it up against her chest. Robert's eyes widen at her, but he remains silent. She tells him in a purposeful tone, low and enunciated, "We have to remember all the wonderful memories we shared and be grateful for every single one of them."
The corners of his mouth curl upward and his overall demeanor relaxes. Robert leans in closer, his other hand coming to rest at the nape of her neck. "We'll have many more happy memories to come, my dearest one." He presses a kiss to her lips, freshly imprinting the sweet sentiment in her mind.
When his mouth releases hers, she beams back at him with a slight blush, "I always love when you called me that." She confesses demurely, "It makes me feel glad to be your wife."
Tilting his head to the side, he reiterates her proudly, "Might I remind you, you are not just my wife, but my dearest wife."
A light hearted giggle erupts from her, prompting her to tease dryly, "Oh that's right. You have another one who holds the lesser title."
Letting out an exasperating sigh he wonders out loud, "God, woman, do you really believe that I could handle two of you?"
She rolls her eyes, "Well I'm glad I make it impossible for you to find room for another."
"There could never be another," He promises solemnly, his forefinger tilting back her chin so their eyes focus on one another. "I mean it, Cora. I could never feel the same way about anyone as I do you."
Her teasing smirk fades upon noticing his shift in tone. She squeezes his hand again, feeling her mind race at his sudden declaration. Bringing one of her gloved hands against the fullness of his cheek, she exhales a breath, felt from the depths of her heart. "Well I'm glad we can at least agree on that matter."
Both of their faces warm considerably with a smile, their mouths joining together, giving thanks for one another. She practically melts as Robert's strong arms envelop her middle, silently wishing for a thousand more like this one in their years to come.