The minute Sarah came through the door she knew something was wrong. Something usually was these days, and her mistress' face was notably darker than usual. The Countess clearly hadn't slept; she'd surmised as much this morning when she'd arrived with her breakfast and seen the dark circles underneath her eyes. And as for his lordship, the stupid git had clearly spent the night in his own room.

Sometimes she wondered whether Lord Grantham had any bloody sense at all, but that was too easy, even for her. Any man who forced his wife to attend a bleedin' garden party when it wasn't a week since she'd lost her child was clearly barking mad, and, not only that, he didn't deserve her either. Sarah had seen how Cora had suffered that day; the memory of her face, of the touch of her hand and the "dear O'Brien" was practically burned into her memory now. The same expression was haunting her face now, and Sarah knew instinctively that her mistress was reliving it all. Some days Sarah wished she had the courage to tell Cora what she had done. At least then she wouldn't blame herself for the death of her child, and that was what plagued her the most; if only I hadn't slipped, if only I'd been more careful, if only, if only, if only. If only she hadn't been such a spiteful, bitter cow Lady Grantham's son would be alive, and Cora would be able to sleep at night.

She gave the Countess her best smile – funny, she never used to smile, not even falsely, but these days she'd do anything for Cora – closing the door behind her.

"What can I do for you m'lady?"

Cora couldn't help the sigh of relief that slipped from her lips at the sight of the other woman. She was beginning to feel much too miserable on her own, and O'Brien's presence usually worked wonders in bringing her mood back up to some sort of normal, placid level.

She smiled warmly from her place at the vanity table. She'd been attempting to braid her hair; it seemed silly that she could barely do something so simple, and she'd needed something to distract her from her wandering mind in the time it took O'Brien to reach her once she'd rung the bell. As usual, it had taken her barely any time at all, and she'd not got much further than the first few steps.

"Oh...nothing, O'Brien. Not really."

She was definitely in one of her funny moods again, and Sarah shuffled closer knowingly. She wanted to put her hand on her shoulder, but these days she didn't know how familiar she was permitted to be. She'd been with her in the worst hours of her life after all; was a hand on a shoulder really too familiar? But the last time she'd thought that, that Cora might think enough of her to call her a friend, she'd been sorely disappointed, and the words perilously close still haunted her, even to this day.

"Would you like some company, m'lady?"

She had read her mind again. O'Brien was unnervingly good at that. And oh dear, she'd caught her mid-cigarette. Cora recognized the tell-tale scent lingering on the other woman's clothes. She found it oddly comforting, and associated it utterly with the woman who had been her rock for near-on two decades.

"Only if you're not busy, of course." She offered the other woman a tentative smirk. "I wouldn't want you in trouble with Mrs. Hughes."

"I only 'ave to breathe to get in trouble with Mrs. Hughes, m'lady."

Perhaps she'd gone too far? Cora was fond of the housekeeper after all, she'd kept her around for long enough, and as far as her ladyship knew, Hughes was perfectly fair. And she was…to a degree. She always had a bone to pick with her, and she didn't doubt it had more than a bit to do with her outranking the woman at the very beginning. She might be fair to most, but Elsie Hughes didn't half hold a grudge!

To her relief the Countess laughed – genuine laughter that warmed her heart and made her smile too. Cora's laughter was scarce these days, and Sarah couldn't help but be pleased with herself, soppy sod she was, for managing to produce it in the first place, even with the telegram still dominating her thoughts. She moved over, seeing Cora struggling with the mess she imagined was supposed to be a braid, and took hold of the locks instead. It would be a good distraction, hair always was, but then her fingers slid over the other woman's, and for a moment she stopped.

She'd been attending to Cora for years, but lately things seemed different. Her stomach fluttered with the prospect of the bell ringing, and her heart hammered in her chest, but not quite as hard as it did now.

"Don't worry O'Brien, I'll vouch for you."

"I know m'lady. You always 'ave."

They exchanged a smile in the mirror, one that warmed Cora's heart and made Sarah's flutter. She looked away uncomfortably, wondering why it had all been so much more difficult lately, why every touch felt more meaningful, and every look made her heart pound like a bloody jack in the box; guilt she supposed. She wasn't surprised she couldn't look Lady Grantham in the eye after what she'd done.

Cora frowned in concern at the look. They'd been having such a lovely time, and something had changed. In fact, how had she not noticed before that O'Brien seemed different entirely? Her shoulders were tense, her smile was strained, and the warmth in her eyes, though there as always, was dulled. Had she done something wrong? She couldn't recall doing anything that O'Brien might find objectionable. Lady Rosamund hadn't visited recently after all, and it was only then she had to ask a little more of O'Brien than usual. And there had been no more confrontations since the incident in the Servant's Hall three years ago that still made her flush with shame.

"O'Brien, are you well?"

Bollocks. Not only had Anna bloody Smith noticed she was under the weather, but now her ladyship had too, and whilst she could tell Anna to sod off and go and sulk with a cigarette in the yard, she certainly couldn't do the same to Cora Crawley. But the Countess had her own problems, she didn't need to worry about her too.

"I am m'lady."

She hoped that, accompanied by a smile, would do, but from the look on Cora's face she doubted it, and she was right. Cora looked back at her suspiciously, and couldn't help the hurt she felt in her chest. O'Brien never usually spoke about herself – it was a trait most ladies would find very agreeable indeed, but not her. She enjoyed the vague snippets of O'Brien's life before Downton that she deigned to share with her, but they were few and far between. This was different though – something was very clearly wrong, and O'Brien was refusing to share.

"O'Brien, I should like to think you would trust me enough to confide in me if something was wrong."

"Of course I trust you, m'lady!"

The words exploded from her like thunder and she momentarily blushed. She hadn't meant to be quite so forceful but she would never have her lady thinking she didn't trust her. There'd been a time Sarah might have scoffed at the very notion – she'd trusted her in the past and been burnt – but things were different now. She'd trust Cora with her life and she hoped to god the Countess felt the same because she'd walk through bloody fire for her a thousand times over just to keep her safe from harm.

There was nothing else for it then; she had to tell her.

She reached into her pocket, retrieving the scrunched up piece of paper that she'd hidden hastily before joining her mistress, and passed it to Cora with a shaky hand.

Cora frowned softly as she accepted the telegram, unfolding it with utter delicacy and reached out to take the other woman's trembling hand; she had never seen her hand shake, not once in ten years of service and it scared her almost as much as the madness in France did. She held on tighter, gripping it just like Sarah had done for her when she'd lost her son, as she read the telegram. The words were so carelessly and messily scribbled it might be nothing more than an invitation to dinner.

"Deeply regret inform you that A M O'Brien died of wounds August 22nd. The Army Council express their deepest sympathy."

Cora looked up, her heart aching for the woman doing her damn best to hold herself together, to be the tower of strength she usually was, but understandably failing. O'Brien had mentioned Alfie before, more than anybody else in fact, and each time Cora hadn't missed the wealth of affection lurking behind her voice. She could practically imagine him now – so young and full of life, tossing leaves onto a burning bonfire with the same smile Cora saw everyday on her maid's beautiful face. And he was dead, like so many others, and O'Brien had lost her brother.

"I'm sorry." The words felt so utterly hollow to her ears, but what else to say? She understood? She didn't. Her husband was here, her daughter's too, and Cousin Matthew at least had the protection of his rank. "I'm so sorry."

"He was nineteen years old, an' they sent 'im 'ome five weeks ago with shellshock."

Sarah's lips curled up in a bitter smile. Just three weeks ago he'd been alive – he'd been a little worse for wear but at least he'd been alive. She'd held him in her bloody arms and told him everything was going to be alright, and now he was dead.

"They gave 'im two weeks to 'rest' an' called him back. He could barely sleep through the night without screamin'; 'e was a mess but they still called him back, and now 'e's gone for good."

"Oh, O'Brien."

Cora reacted before she even knew what she was doing and leaned in, wrapping her arms around Sarah and pulling her close, resting one hand against her back and the other stroking her hair. She'd done this before of course, but it didn't happen often. She told Sarah practically everything yet she could count the number of times they'd embraced on one hand. Tears pricked at her own eyes at the feel of Sarah trying so hard to fight the grief she could feel was consuming her from the shaking of her body. She'd always been so strong before, so utterly impenetrable and sometimes the only thing keeping her together, but now she was grieving, and Cora knew she couldn't make that any better but she could do this.

Sarah faltered, stunned momentarily by the feel of another body against hers, soft and warm and offering precisely the kind of comfort she usually neglected to allow herself. But she soon sank into it, reveling in the warmth and security of Cora's arms and allowed herself to bury her face in her mistress' neck.

"Does the rest of your family know?" Cora asked after a long moment of silence, stroking Sarah's back and holding her close. Her chief motive was to offer Sarah comfort of course, but she couldn't help but revel in it herself. She couldn't remember the last time Robert had held her like this; they'd been much too busy and much too distant and she didn't mind exactly – Robert was worried about Matthew and disappointed he couldn't fight, and she would hardly begrudge him that, even if it meant he remained safe at Downton with her – but she wouldn't deny that she'd missed it.

"I don't think so, m'lady. They sent the telegram to me, so my Dad…" His son was dead and Melvyn O'Brien didn't have a clue.

"You should go and see him."

"My next 'alf day isn't for weeks yet-"

"Your half day? Goodness O'Brien, what you must think of me! You'll go there tomorrow. Branson will drive you, and you will stay for as long as you need to."

"But you need me, m'lady, I couldn't-"

"Nonsense. After everything you've done for me, I'd be a monster if I didn't allow you to be with your family after this. I'll manage without you – Anna might be useless with corsets, but she's capable. I'll make do."

"Thank you, m'lady. My father'll need some 'elp, and there's not really anyone. I don't know 'ow 'e'll manage the farm on his own. My other brother's 're off at the front, stupid sods, an' their wives aren't much good for farmin'. The only person that could possibly be of any 'elp to 'im at all is…"

"You," Cora finished. O'Brien was going to leave her; she realized it the second the other woman did, and her chest swelled with sudden pain. Their eyes met at the same time their hands did, and to Sarah it was as if she'd read that telegram all over again, like she'd lost another person almost as dear to her as Alfie, maybe even just as dear. Her entire life for the last decade had revolved around Cora Crawley in every single bloody way, and to lose her now…

"I don't want to leave you, m'lady, I've been 'appy here."

And Cora had never been happier than she had with Sarah here, and the prospect of losing her broke her heart but she would not be that selfish.

"But your father needs you." She smiled as warmly as she could, despite the pain in her chest. She so desperately wished she could be more like her mother-in-law and demand Sarah stay no matter what, but she was no Violet Crawley and she cared about Sarah so much more than Violet had Simmons or any of the others that came before and after her. "I understand O'Brien; did you think I would be cross with you?"

She squeezed Cora's hand, smiling with all the warmth she could manage to salvage out of the crippling sadness. "Of course not, m'lady. I'm grateful for your understanding." She took in a deep breath. "Shall I dress you now, m'lady?

"You're not going to dress me O'Brien, that's not important now."

Cora moved over to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her and Sarah reluctantly followed, not because she didn't want to join her, but she didn't think she could handle another heart to heart. Her chest bloody burnt enough as it was!

"Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?"

Sarah sniffled and something immediately sprung to mind. Something wild and mad and something she'd be embarrassed to say out loud in her more lucid moments but she'd heard about the soldiers of her class that died on the front and were left there, and she couldn't bear to think of her Alfie trampled thoughtlessly into the mud. She straightened her head the best she could to look Cora in the eye.

"I don't suppose...that is m'lady, is there any chance his lordship could find out if there's a body to bury? I don't suppose my Dad'll be able to afford it but it'd be nice to know 'e was buried…if 'e could be found."

Cora's heart broke more for Sarah in that moment than it had for anyone else before, with the exception of the son that had never had the chance to breathe his first gasp of air. She took her hand again, grasping it tightly and with the strength of all of the pain she felt for the other woman and gave her a decisive nod.

"I'll do anything I can for you, and-" Cora held Sarah's eyes and tried her hardest to communicate every bit of fondness and warmth she had for her, "if there is something I can do your father won't have to worry about the costs associated. That'll be taken care of, I assure you."

Sarah squeezed Cora's hand tighter and shook her head, riddled still with all the airs of servitude that she couldn't seem to break out of regardless of how absurdly close they'd seemingly grown.

"No m'lady, I couldn't. It'd be too much to ask of you and his lordship, you're already doing so much with the hospital."

She felt a sudden wave of sorrow and couldn't help but wonder – if Alfie had been a richer man, better stationed in life, would he be in that hospital now, recovering from his injuries? She didn't know Doctor Clarkson particularly well, she'd had no need to other than the accident really, but she didn't think he was the sort of man who'd be stupid enough to send a man clearly still suffering back to the front. She managed a small smile for Cora, wan and watery, but grateful all the same.

"There's very little you can ask me that I'll regard as 'too much'," Cora persisted. She patted Sarah's hand affectionately. "But we don't need to discuss that now."