He saw her, in the following weeks, only intermittently; she seldom called at the hospital, and he suspected she deliberately avoided the big house when she knew that he would be calling. And he could almost understand. Certainly he could understand that she didn't have the time to come to the hospital, from what Lady Mary said to him in passing, it seemed that she was almost constantly occupied with her grandson- the hired nursemaid had been left practically redundant. And the piercing pain he felt in his own chest every time he had seen her since made him understand quite clearly why she might want to avoid him completely, if she felt anything like what he did. Except, he wished she wouldn't avoid him; for him, it hurt more not to see her, no matter what.
He wanted to know if she was alright, or at least coping, he wanted to be there, just there, in case she needed him. He wanted to be with her. Whatever it cost them to break this barrier of ice and silence that had formed between them ever since... well, ever since. He was sure they had not spoken a single word together, and if their eyes had met both had looked sharply away, like hands being snatched away when inadvertently touching something burning. He could hardly even look at her now for the fear of such a moment, and the hurt it cost him. He needed... He just needed her. He needed her back with him.
As they had been that afternoon.
He let her be alone with her son's body. There are things, he had thought, too personal to be witnessed. It wasn't his place to be there with her, even if he wanted to. He waited for her in his office, sitting at his desk with his hands clasped anxiously together in front of him, too nervous, sad, worried about her to be able to do anything but watch the foot of the metal leg of the bed left made in the far corner of the room in case necessity ever compelled him to spend the night there.
He remembered the nights during the War, lying in that same, uncomfortable bed, thinking of the woman, who, two rooms down the corridor, was saying goodbye to her son. It had always been in some sort of frustration that he had thought of her; sometimes at her, sometimes at himself. Sometimes out of irritation, others out of desire for her. And, if he was truthful, always out of love, he thought, in spite of everything. His hand moved and clenched a little on the arm of his chair.
She was gone a long time, but finally he heard the sound of the door being opened, rather timidly, though without a knock. Once she was inside the room, she closed the door behind her, leaning backwards against it. Standing up, moving closer to her with some caution, it was clear to him that she had been crying, but she was not any longer.
"Mrs Crawley," he began, taking another step in her direction but still remaining a certain distance away, "Is there anything that I can-...?"
"Richard," she cut him off quietly, sadness in every tiny breath and tremor of her voice, "Please."
That was all. "Please."
"What?" he asked her hesitantly.
She said it again.
"Please," she murmured, stepping swiftly towards him, closing the space in between them, touching him instantly. Differently to before, when, seeing she was in shock, he had tenderly guided her up the hospital steps with light pressure on her elbow.
Not that she wasn't tender, as her hands pressed against his chest, but she was more certain, more forceful than he had been. She, her stance, her very air, was demanding. Her hands were only quivering slightly, and when she pressed them to the back of his head, into his hair to pull his mouth down to meet hers, she did so deftly and with assurance.
For a few moments he was too shocked to respond, but her lips were softly, pliant, kissing him fervently. He could not help kissing her back. For a moment, he almost considered putting up some sort of resistance to her, but it was impossible; she kissed him in just the right way, his mouth almost shuddered into responsive motion, making him taste her, sucking her lower lip between his, slipping his tongue into her inviting mouth to explore. He felt her moan breathlessly against his mouth.
Before they had even broken their kiss, her hands had slipped down to his neck, undone his bow-tie, his shirt collar. Their eyes met, her hands resting one more on his chest. Both were considerably out of breath. Her eyes were dark, drugged with desire, and sadness. He saw that she was shaking now.
"Isobel," he whispered, trying her name so carefully, "We..." You're vulnerable, he wanted to say, we can't. "Is this really the way to make it better?" he asked her in a weak voice.
She looked at him very clearly.
"My heart is broken," she told him simply, and he saw tears form in her eyes, but they didn't fall, "You can't possibly hurt me any more, Richard."
Any other argument, any feeble insistence that this was what she needed to make things seem fine, would never have broken him like that did. He did no make one murmur of protest after that. He knew then without having to be told that she needed him, like this, she did not need to put it into words. He didn't think she could. And he loved her, God forgive him, but he loved her, like this, and if she needed him then he was willing to let her use him for whatever she needed. She put the latch on the door with slightly fumbling fingers and he allowed her to push him back onto the bed and resume undressing him.
She lay beside him, fumbling his shirt off, removing her own dress and corset between hot, breathy, hard kisses. His arms held her naked back, encircling her, but she was very much in control, forcing their kiss until they panted against each other, and his body threatened to tumble backwards and out of the narrow bed with the force with which she was pushing herself against him. His hands traced to her breasts, cupping them both and kneading them softly, marvelling at their firmness, the hardness of her nipples, and she took advantage of his moment of distraction to push him over onto his back, straddling his waist. As she lent forward to kiss his lips again, tracing his throat to bite his neck, he felt her open wetness press against his abdomen, and groaned. One of hands rested on her waist, the other on her right knee, her breasts falling forwards and pressing against his own chest.
He had never felt closer to a human being before. There was nothing gentle about her hands closing in a vice-like grip on his shoulder as she lowered herself onto him, nothing careful or refined as she lowered herself onto him, taking him into her, biting her own lip hard until it was drained of colour. He threw his own head back at the blissful tightness of her, and his fingers tightened on her waist. He was only able to look at her once she started to raise and lower herself onto him; her eyes closed against the feeling, her face screwed up in effort as she concentrated on the point at which they touched, her breasts bouncing with her erratic movements. It was still tender and painfully sensual for all its carelessness, its roughness. His pelvis jutted up to meet hers. For all its brutality, it implicit pain, their lovemaking was still tender, still so sweet, sweet as her breath in his ear, as the heat of their bodies, her wetness beginning to leak down to the top of his thighs.
Her eyes opened wide when he slipped his hand against his own groin so that his fingers brushed her clitoris when she lowered herself to him. He heard her gasp at the feeling, felt the fresh rush of moisture at her centre.
"Oh darling," it was the first time she had spoken for a long while, her words slipping out almost involuntarily between frantic pants, the sound coming from nearer than he had expected as she leant forwards as the first crippling feeling of her building climax ripped through her body, "Yes, darling, like that, oh please!"
"Please what?" he managed to pant.
"Touch my breasts," she instructed, her eyes falling shut again, opening with her desperate keen as he complied, "Richard, RICHARD!"
She slumped forwards over him, her hips rocking violently as her muscles tightened around him and her body shook with her orgasm. He thrust into her once more, spilled himself inside her and hurtled over the edge as his arms closed around her.
They were silent for a very long time afterwards. On his part, he thought, it was almost shock. He'd never been made love to like that before, never been taken so forcefully and mercilessly by a woman, though he was more than willing to give her everything. Because he loved her, there was nothing she could take that was too much. And besides, it had been... It had been wonderful. The most intense, violent comfort that he could have imagined. God, merciful God, he loved her! And they had made love, and he hadn't told her so.
"Isobel," he whispered, knowing by the uneven rise and fall of her breathing that though she was still she was not asleep, "Isobel, I've been so stupid."
She stiffened in his arms, her body going taught against his. He stayed quiet so as to let her speak if she wanted to. There was silence for a long while.
"Oh," came her reply at last.
"What?" he asked her.
"Nothing," she replied, and he felt her sit up, her weight leaving his body swiftly as she sat up and pushed back the covers.
"Isobel, wha-...?" He broke off his question, seeing that she was crying as she stood up as quickly as she could, with some difficulty she extracted herself from him and the bedsheets. He caught a glimpse of two tear tracks running gently down her face as she stood up, before she quickly turned her back to him.
He could not go on, seeing her tears. His head fell back against the pillow, unable to watch as she gathered her clothes from the floor and redressed herself quickly and clumsily. She regretted him. That was all it was. A cavernous silence filled the room, louder than the shuffling sound of her clothes. He stared blankly at the ceiling as the door shut with a cold, crisp snap. He could still feel the ghost of her weight balanced provocatively above his pelvis, the feeling of her swollen lips against his. They had made love, and she had gone, regretted him.
Lying there, unable to move, though he knew he could not stay like this for long, he thought that this might be the worst day of his life.
But there will be a second chapter (I can't leave them like this!) And it won't all be in flashback!
Please review if you have the time.