A/N: Y'all made me rethink the time jump that I had originally planned — plus, I shuffled a few plot-things around so I actually needed a filler chapter anyhow. But guess what?! That works out really well for those of you who were angsting over what Elsie's response to be to Charles' truth bomb in the last chapter *and* we're going to make some headway in the Cobert plot — still in angstville, I'm afraid.


He hesitated, biting his lip a moment, "I suppose it's times like these, pandemonium, when I recognize it the most. . ."

"Recognize what?" she asked, her voice practically a hush.

He swallowed, turning his hands over as they tremored, "That you . . . are my still point in a turning world."

He couldn't look at her; closed his eyes, in fact. Too afraid of what he wouldn't see flicker across her face.

You old fool, he silently chided, how could you say something so maudlin? An apologetic laugh welled up in him and he was about to lift his gaze, shrug it off, proclaim how exhausted he was; when he felt her warm little hand on his forearm.

"Oh, Dr. Carson," she sighed, drumming her fingers lightly on his skin. He did look up then, meeting her eyes — which still glimmered, threatening tears. She let her hand glide over his wrist, curling her fingers around his hand and giving it a squeeze.

Glancing down at where their hands were joined, he cleared his throat, "What I meant was—the world spinning madly on and all, you make me feel a bit —steady."

Ducking her head down a bit so that she could find his gaze, she whispered, "You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady. . ."

When he didn't immediately raise his eyes to hers, she reached her free hand up and gently placed it on his cheek, her fingers twitching uncertainly at the sensation of his stubble against her palm.

When he lifted his chin, looking at her straight on, he saw a light in her eyes — a beacon in a dark harbor — and he couldn't help but smile; hope washing over him like a raging sea that had finally begun to calm.

Δ*

Isobel lifted the whistling kettle from the stove and turned to Sybil, nodding toward the tray she'd laid out on the sideboard, "Could you put a few biscuits on there, love?" she said, pouring water into the waiting teapot.

Sybil nodded, "I will —but I doubt she'll eat them."

Isobel laughed, returning the kettle to the stove top and wiping her hands on her slacks, "They're for us, sweetie." she said, nipping a biscuit from the plate and popping it between her teeth before she lifted the tea tray into her arms.

"Your father mentioned you're interested in nursing," Isobel mumbled through the biscuit as they climbed the stairs to the bedroom—where Cora was, hopefully, still napping.

"Mhm, rather than being a doctor," Sybil said, eyeing Isobel as she mounted the stairs, precariously packed tea tray shaking slightly as she took step after step, "I feel like doctors don't see patients nearly so much as nurses do."

"I'd tend to agree," Isobel said, the biscuit bobbing precariously on her lip. She paused in front of Cora's bedroom door, "Would you give the door a push for me?"

Sybil nodded, hurrying to her side and nudging the door open, "When everything's settled down, if it ever is, can I come shadow you? In Dr. Clarkson's office?"

Isobel's eyes sparkled, "Of course," she mumbled, "But wouldn't you rather go somewhere more . . .exciting?"

"I just want to learn from the best," Sybil said, biting her lip instinctively as she watched one end of the biscuit drop from Isobel's mouth onto the tray and into an empty tea cup. Blushing, Isobel chewed the bit left in her mouth and gave Sybil a small shrug as she tiptoed into the room.

"That cup'll be mine, then!" she said, turning from Sybil to look for a place to lower the tea tray.

"Here let me —" Sybil said, holding her arms out. Isobel nodded, handing it to her with great care, and then settling in at the foot of Cora's bed. Without waking her, she rested her fingers lightly on her wrist, feeling her pulse.

"She's still a little tachycardic—" Isobel sighed, looking up at Sybil, who had joined her at the foot of the bed, nibbling on a chocolate biscuit she'd purloined from the tea tray.

"Dehydration?" Sybil asked as she chewed, "She's been vomiting . . ."

"Very good Nurse Sybil," Isobel said, "I think that's the likely cause but — well, I'm not sure that I'd feel confident saying this is only the result of experiencing a shock." She furrowed her brow, resting her hand gently on Cora's belly, "How many along weeks is she?"

Sybil thought a moment, "She's due for her next ultrasound soon, uh, about eighteen weeks I think?"

"Hmm," Isobel said, running her hands the length of Cora's belly, "Her measurements seem a bit off — by feel, anyway— I couldn't be sure without the means to measure properly but. . .well, if we could get her into the office. . ."

"You don't think something's wrong with the baby?" Sybil said quietly, folding her arms tightly across her chest, "And it's making her ill?"

Isobel sighed wearily and began to respond, but Cora stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

"Isobel?" she asked hoarsely, "What are you doing —" she grimaced, "Oh, good Lord I feel horrible—"

"I know, dear," Isobel said, looking up at Sybil uneasily, "I . . .I think perhaps we need to pack you up and drive to the hospital. You're quite dehydrated."

"Where's Robert?"

"He's still there," Sybil piped up, "I think he's getting ready to talk to the press."

"By the time we got you settled into a room I'm sure he'll be right by your side," Isobel said gently, though she wasn't sure if she was making a promise not easily kept.

Cora groaned, "Is the baby okay?"

"That's what we want to be sure of," Isobel said, petting Cora's belly gently. She turned her face up to Sybil, "Darling, why don't you put together an overnight bag, just in case, and I'll help her downstairs."

Δ

"Dr. Crawley!"

Mary turned, furrowing her brow as Matthew jogged the length of the corridor to catch up with her.

"Where is your better half?" Mary asked curtly, giving a small flip of her hair.

Matthew blinked, then blushed slightly, "Lavinia's home with a stomach thing—" he sighed, "I must admit, I wish that I was. I imagine you do as well."

Mary huffed, "I wouldn't be anywhere else. Downton is my life." she said simply, turning on her heels to continue on down the hall toward her father's office.

"Mary—wait."

She stopped, turning sharply back to him at the sound of her name.

"I just wanted to say that — I'm terribly sorry about this all. I imagine this must be a very difficult time for you and. . .well, I suppose I'm only sorry that we've gotten off on the wrong foot. So it would seem."

"I've not been particularly accommodating," Mary said quietly, "When we're all on the other side of . . . all this . . .perhaps we can make another attempt."

Matthew offered her a small smile, "Cardiothoracic surgery training doesn't quite prepare you for these kinds of matters of the heart, do they?"

Mary let her gaze fall to the floor, turning away from him slowly, "Haven't you heard? she whispered, "I don't have a heart."

"How do you figure that?" Matthew asked, quickening his steps once again to keep up with her. She turned her head, regarding him and his persistence.

"Medicine as a field of study. . .surgery. . .I've spent far too long in the land of the dead."

Δ

". . .Dean of Medicine Robert Crawley gave a brief statement to the press this afternoon, saying that the hospital is undergoing an internal review to assess the validity of Green's claims. They are expecting to undergo an additional external review by the middle of next week. He did not confirm or deny the allegations and refused to take questions from the press at this time. The hospital has declined repeated interview requests. We will update on this story as more information becomes available."

"The press is getting restless," Rosamund said, digging through her purse for a cigarette. Robert didn't even chide her, he hardly noticed. Looking over the edge of the hospital's roof, he could see the blockades down below, the local police force trying to control the ever-growing crowd of reporters.

"I tried to get out, to go home — look in on Cora," he said, "But I can't even get out the door. It looks like traffic's blocked off the perimeter of Yorkshire."

Rosamund nodded, popping the cigarette between her teeth, "Bobby, I just want you to know that I do understand why you did it."

"You do?"

She nodded, inhaling deeply as she flicked her lighter, "I still think it was a completely idiotic thing to do, but I know you thought at the time —"

Robert shook his head, "I never thought it was the right thing to do, I knew it was wrong but I didn't feel as though I had a choice."

"Why didn't you come to me? To mum?"

He threw her a look, "Ros, would you have gone to mum?"

Rosamund scoffed, "Not even for a hangnail."

"Right, well, I didn't want to trouble you with it. It was right around when you and Duke got married."

"Was it?" Rosamund said, coughing slightly, "You were keeping that secret for a long time, then."

Robert nodded, "I wanted to come to you, you know. After Duke died and — the whole thing with John Gillingham. . .I wanted to tell you that I. . .that I knew you were still a good person."

"Hm," Rosamund huffed, "Sounds like you were trying to absolve yourself of a rather large sin in the process."

"I suppose maybe I was," Robert said sheepishly.

Finishing her cigarette, Rosamund lifted her high-heeled foot and stubbed it out on the bottom, tucking it into her skirt pocket.

"Not going to pitch it over the edge at all our admirers?" Robert asked, nodding toward the edge of the roof.

"No," Rosamund sighed, pulling a stick of gum out of her purse, "They'd probably keep it to get my DNA off later."

Δ

"Beryl will bring your car round tomorrow," Charles said, putting his car in park outside Elsie's flat, "Though I would caution you against driving a few more days at least. If you're certain you need to go in, a few hours here or there for the remainder of the week, let me know and I'll be your chauffeur."

Elsie cleared her throat, "Are you . . . going back to yours, then?"

He blinked, his lips parting uncertainly, "I was. . .I don't have to. I don't want—" he held her gaze a moment, trying to figure out what her body was saying, "I don't want to leave if . . .if you're not ready to be on your own."

Biting her lip, Elsie turned toward the window, hiding her face from him, "In light of today's agony I think . . .I'd prefer if you stayed. At least for a little while."

Charles sighed, removing his keys from the ignition, "Then I shall," he pushed his door open and she waited, knowing he'd come round to open hers. He gave her his hand and helped her out — she'd run around far too much and now she ached all over. She gave him a half-smile as they headed toward the front stoop of her flat.

She took the first few steps before she noticed that he'd hung back, eyeing her hesitantly.

She reached out and gripped the rail, letting her body lean against it, letting out a half-exhausted-laugh, half-exasperated-sigh, "C'mon then, Dr. Carson — what are you afraid of?"

He shook his head, his hands tensing at his sides, "I feel . . .a shaking of the ground I stand on, like everything I believe is going to be tested. . ." he said quietly. Then, almost as quickly as he'd uttered it, he blinked to attention, shrugging his shoulders, "Sorry — I've just — I've suddenly found myself feeling very wobbly about all this."

She didn't say anything, just tipped her head a bit to one side and took a gentle step down — and offered him her hand.

Δ

"Well, I doubt it's anything serious," Dr. Tapsell* said, removing his glasses, "You've probably caught a bug — food poisoning, perhaps."

"But the baby," Isobel said, pulling the doctor away from where Cora lay on the emergency room gurney, "You're the on call obstetrician, yes? Don't you think her measurements are a bit off—?"

"I'll thank you not to tell me how to do my job, Isobel," he said sharply, "My understanding this pregnancy was a bit of a shock; she's probably got her dates mixed up as well. Her follow-up ultrasound is next week and they'll have a closer look then. She's hydrated now, the best thing she can do is rest."

Isobel sighed, "Well . . .if you're sure."

"I am," Dr. Tapsell frowned, "I'll get her discharge paperwork."

Sybil appeared at her side just as he left the room, "That's it? He's just going to give her a banana bag* and be done with it?"

"I don't like him much," Isobel said, "I think we should ask Dr. Clarkson to pop by, just to look in. . .I'll go call his office."

She squeezed Sybil's shoulder and turned, opening the door — to see Dr. Clarkson standing about rather sheepishly.

"Oh, Good Lord," Isobel yelped, "Your ears must have been burning. I was just about to call."

"Well, the emergency room called the office to ask about one of her prescriptions — which was out of date, of course, the damned electronic record* — anyway, since you're not over there holding down the fort I had to answer the phone. When I heard she was here I closed up shop and came over straight away."

Isobel blushed slightly, "Sorry I've skipped out on you today. . ."

"By the looks of it, it was the right decision," he said, going over to Cora's bed. He eyed the ultrasound machine in the corner and gave Isobel a conspiratory glance, "How much shall I wager that Dr. Tapsell didn't even turn that bloody thing on?"

"He didn't!" Sybil cried, plopping down in a corner armchair, "Something's wrong with the baby, I know it. And Isobel does too, don't you?"

"I've got a feeling," Isobel said, "I think the baby is . . .on the small side, perhaps. Sybil said she's eighteen weeks but. . .well, measure her."

Dr. Clarkson paused a moment, his hands hovering over Cora's middle. She slept with the forced peace of exhaustion as he lifted her johnny just enough to expose her belly.

"Isobel, turn on that ultrasound if you would please," he said, "Sybil, hand me that measuring tape there, would you?"

Eager to help, Sybil bounced up, snatching the measuring tape from the counter and unwinding it before she handed it to him. He furrowed his brow, concentrating deeply, as he stretched it over the rise of Cora's middle.

"Well, you're not wrong, Isobel," he said after a moment. He dropped the measuring tape and took the ultrasound wand from Isobel, who dabbed a bit of gel on Cora's belly. Pressing the wand against her pale skin, he looked up at the screen.

No one spoke, and after a moment, the only sound in the room was the baby's heartbeat, a dull echo that made Sybil's throat ache.

"Sybil," he said in a hush, "Would you mind fetching Dr. Tapsell for me?"

She hesitated, but Isobel nodded to her — and she quietly disappeared from the room. Isobel came around to the opposite side of the bed and looked at the ultrasound, chewing her thumbnail nervously.

"What is it, then?" she said, knowing he was about to confirm her suspicion.

"Enlarged echogenic kidneys, occipital encephalocoele and possibly the beginnings of polydactly in the feet. . ." he said, his voice shaking. They both watched the monitor for a moment, and just as the fetus arched its back, Cora began to stir awake.

"What does it imply, Dr. Clarkson? Isobel whispered, leaning down close to his face so he could speak in hushed tones.

"I'm going to ask Dr. Tapsell to confirm, but I'm almost positive it's Meckel-Gruber Syndrome*. The kidneys. . .it's almost a sure sign."

Isobel blanched, "But Dr. Clarkson. . .if it's that she'd have to. . ."

"Clarkson, what are you doing to my patient?" Tapsell said, crashing into the room, Sybil fumbling in tow.

"Dr. Tapsell, if you would, look at this ultrasound."

"I didn't order an ultrasound," he said resolutely.

"What does this look like," Dr. Clarkson said evenly, pointing to the screen, "Or this? Or what about this, here, at the kidneys? What does this appear to be?"

Dr. Tapsell refused to look, but as Dr. Clarkson's gaze darkened, he cowered a bit, letting his gaze flicker to the monitor.

He stared at it a moment, and then, the color drained from his face.

Then, it flushed bright red.

"Dr. Clarkson, may I see you outside for a moment."

"You may," Dr. Clarkson said, handing the ultrasound wand to Isobel. He leaned over, letting his hand settle on her upper arm as he whispered, "Get her cleaned up, but don't say anything until we can get Robert down here."

Isobel nodded, watching as he left the room. Cora blinked up at her sleepily and Sybil, who had said nothing, began to cry.

"Oh, sweetheart," Isobel said, reaching over and pushing the hair from Sybil's face, which only made the girl cry harder, "Oh, dear girl. . ."

Δ

You must be mad, Anna thought, pacing about the room, you've got to be stark raving mad to be doing this—. She paused, looking about, her eyes darting from one corner to the next. She'd knocked first, expected to have woken her from a nap perhaps. Then she noticed the flat's front door wasn't shut all the way. Worry trembled in her chest and made her push inside, afraid something had happened.

"Dr. Hughes?" she'd called out, stepping lightly into the hall.

She wasn't there, but nothing looked amiss.

Then she noticed the telly was on, still broadcasting the news.

Of course, Anna thought, pausing in the hall, she's gone straight to the hospital.

She thought then she ought to just turn around and leave. She should have called first anyhow, but she was afraid she'd lose her nerve; lose the strength she'd built up to ask her for help, particularly when she knew she wasn't exactly in a state of being without the need for it herself.

Taking a few more steps down the hall, she peeked around the corner to what she quickly recognized was Dr. Hughes' bedroom. The room was only slightly untidy, though the sheets of the bed were in a heap and — she found it rather curious to note that both pillows were indented where heads had earlier been.

None of my damn business, she said, stalling herself. She didn't want to leave, thinking perhaps she'd be back any moment, that if she left and went back home she'd lose her resolve — that maybe, in light of all of this, she'd finally collapse fully into herself and lose everything. That she would not be able to survive it any longer; that she'd hurt John, that Downton would fall around her and she would be to blame for it all.

It was this thought that overtook her as she heard keys turn in the front door.


* this page-break has now become an inside joke with Steph. Last chapter it was a mistake, now it's a thing. delta triangle

* YEP THAT'S THE DOCTOR THAT KILLED SYBIL BUT NOPE HE'S NOT GONNA KILL CORA HE'S JUST THE RESIDENT IDIOT.

* Just what you call the fluid bolus they give you if you're dehydrated. It's got potassium in it to help replenish yours if you've been throwing up a lot. That's why they call it a "banana bag" haha.

* This will get explained next chapter, but in case anyone Googles it — well, you'll probably find out where this plot line is going based on that alone. It's genetic and if the gene is present, each pregnancy has a 25% chance — so, this is Cora's fourth. . .*sigh*