A/N: Hello there, fellow Downton Abbey fans! :) I've loved the show ever since it started airing here in the UK, but until now I've been unable to think of anything that might be suitable for a fanfic. Of course, this may have gone horribly wrong, ensuring that it's my first and last post here. xD

This takes place before the Christmas Special, obviously, and is probably already AU. Oh well. There are two more chapters to accompany this, and I hope to get them both up before the special airs on Christmas Day. :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Downton Abbey, practically everything which annoyed fans about series two wouldn't have happened. :P

Under the Mistletoe

1. The Rift

Cora breaks away from the party with a murmured excuse, smiling politely at those who look her way. She waves away the drink that Carson offers her as she passes and heads towards the doorway where she can see her husband lingering, detached from the rest of the celebrations.

"Robert?" she asks him upon her approach, "what's the matter?"

He starts as though he'd been a great distance away, turning to flash her a smile that strains the corners of his mouth. "Nothing, my dear."

She's been married to him long enough to know when he is not being honest with her, and her instinct is confirmed when he turns away again to watch the festivities with a pensive frown darkening his features. She sighs despondently to herself, slipping in front of him so that he has to take notice of her.

"Robert, please tell me what's wrong." She doesn't care that she sounds pushy. In another life, in another world, he'd tease her for going all American on him once again, but this time she gets no response.

She should be used to it by now. The Great War has left everyone with scars; no one has escaped untouched. Just because the scars she bears are not necessarily visible does not mean that she hasn't been wounded too. The widening gap that has been drawing the two of them further apart, ripping through their comfortable relationship – the gap that she had tentatively started to believe was bridging itself – was growing horrifically larger by the day, threatening to tear through the familiarity for good.

She'd thought that after the Spanish flu epidemic that all would be well once more. After she'd recovered her senses enough, she'd been all too aware of the painful fact that only O'Brien had nursed her through her illness, but when Robert had taken her hand she'd assumed everything would slowly return to how it had been before August 1914. And, for a time, it had. Robert had been much more affectionate towards her, treating her like a china doll which could crack at any moment. She'd chastised him gently for being too worrisome, but inside she'd been thrilled that he was lavishing her with his attentions. They'd even made love a few times in the darkness, with her cries muffled against his shoulder and his touch soft and reverent like it had been in the second year of their marriage, an act which had been more frequent in those few months of almost-normalcy than it had during the entirety of the war. Yes, for a while, it had seemed like everything was falling back into place, into the easiness that they had enjoyed prior to the war.

But it had been too good to last, and slowly but surely Robert's moods have darkened until he is as distant with her as he'd been during those painful four years. The lovemaking has petered out completely. Sometimes they even sleep apart,

(Robert's decision, always Robert's decision)

something unheard of before the war. There is clearly something preying on his mind, but he won't share his problem with her. It is as though he is fighting (and here Cora pauses from the sheer ridiculousness of her train of thought) some inner demon that only he can know about, something that had not been picking at his person like a vulgar vulture before the war.

Before the war. After the war. How she hates those words, those neat little blocks that her life can be sorted into.

She shakes her head then, before her thoughts can derail her even further. It is apparent that Robert is not going to answer her question, so instead of pursuing the matter further, she allows her gaze to wander past her husband's.

She freezes. They are standing directly underneath a sprig of mistletoe, hung there to add some light-hearted humour to the festivities – Carson's face had been a picture when he'd realised that he was standing underneath it with Mrs. Hughes. But, suddenly, it doesn't seem as funny anymore.

Robert notices the shift in her scrutiny and turns around to follow it. He looks even grimmer.

"Oh," he mutters, and she is left wondering just exactly when his love for her

(died, died like she almost did)

began to wane.

"It is tradition, darling," she says, feeling both foolish and awkward. It's not the fact that they're with the servants – they have been affectionate in front of them before and, in any case, no one is paying them the slightest bit of attention, too focused on the delights of the ball. It isn't even that the Dowager Countess' keen eyes are seeking the pair out from across the room – Robert has rarely regarded his mother on the matter of his wife since the second year of their marriage. No, he is making her feel foolish and awkward. The weary look on his face as he realises what the mistletoe means is like a fresh battle wound to her heart.

"It'll only take a moment," she tries to tease him lamely, stepping closer to him.

"I suppose," he sighs, and leans in to her.

She closes her eyes in anticipation of his mouth gently brushing against hers. The contact never comes.

Instead he tilts his head and presses his lips against her cheek. It is so fleeting that she barely realises what has happened until it is over. Snapping her eyes open, she finds him already moving away from her.

Before the war, he would never have kissed her cheek. In front of the people who did not (and could not) judge him, he would have allowed himself to peck her chastely, perhaps even caressing her arm for good measure. Now…

Now even that has changed, along with everything else.

Cora doesn't bother calling after him. There is no point. She watches him walk over to Carson and strike up a conversation with him.

Anything to be away from her.

Tears – something that she hasn't felt for a long time – prick the back of her eyes, and she blinks them away furiously. It will not do to allow her emotions to take on a life of their own. She cannot allow her mother-in-law to tut that she is just too American, can't bear the thought of the servants seeing her weak and vulnerable.

And Robert. She is more terrified of his reaction than anything else. She does not want to see the exasperation – or worse, indifference! – in his eyes if he knew that the tears that are threatening to fall are down to him.

So she takes a deep breath to steady her nerves, giving herself a moment to compose herself. Holding her head high, she plasters a smile back onto her face and begins to mingle with the members of staff again.

Tonight, when this is over, she will remove her mask and allow herself to mourn the loving relationship she used to share with her husband.

Now, however, she has to keep up the appearance of a perfect family life.

A/N: Perhaps a little too angsty? Although I'd love for Cora and Robert to be back to their series one ways, I'd also love to see the two of them getting closer once again. Robert should be carrying a lot of guilt over the Jane thing and for some reason I can see it driving them further apart before it brings them together again as Robert battles against this guilt. Hopefully this was okay, in any case. I've got a fluffy Robert/Cora idea in my head, so if this is received well I'll go ahead and write and post it. :)

Next chapter will focus on Mary/Matthew. I'm hoping to post it on the twentieth. Please review to let me know what you think of this. :)