A/N: Hi guys! I have to work all weekend — sigh — but the next two chapters are written so maybe you'll even get another one before the end of next week! The next few chapters have trigger warnings regarding miscarriage, abortion discussion, discussion of pregnancy termination, depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress and I think that's about it for this round. Plot's moving steadily along! Thank you, as always, for being so enthusiastic about this fic. Hoping to continue to give you a new "episode" each week! Oh, notes at the end too. As per usual. I'm glad you guys enjoy those!


Anna held her breath, pressing herself up against the wall behind the bedroom door. She listened hard, stilling her body so that her acuity of hearing would be — or at least seem — heightened. She heard Dr. Hughes' muffled voice, and then, another deeper voice in response.

Dr. Carson.

"Go have a lie down — or a bath, perhaps. I'll put tea on."

Footsteps coming down the hall toward her, then, growing louder until she saw the doorknob turning, the door swinging toward her. Instinctively, her hands shot out to protect her from being trapped by it.

Hearing the sound of hands slapping against the wood, Elsie turned sharply as she closed the door. Anna reached out and covered Elsie's mouth.

"Please," she whispered, "I don't want him to know I'm here."

Elsie's eyes widened and she reached up to lower Anna's hands from her face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked — shocked, but not unkind.

"I—well, I came by and—I did knock. Your door was ajar. I came in, thinking perhaps something was wrong. John mentioned your surgery and I. . .when you weren't here, but the telly was on . . .I figured you'd dragged yourself to the hospital and. . .well, I was going to leave once I'd checked to make sure you weren't just napping but. . .I heard the key in the door and then — Dr. Carson—"

Elsie blushed, "He's looking after me," she said slowly, "I'm still quite sore." Wincing, she moved slowly past Anna and crumpled onto her bed, grateful for how passively it received her, "Why don't you want him to know you're here?"

Anna wrung her hands, "Did you see the interview Dr. Painswick gave to the press?"

Elsie shook her head, "I don't think so."

"Well, she. . .she said some things . . .vaguely incriminating. She didn't mean to, obviously she doesn't know anything but . . .now people are talking. I'm afraid they're going to try to dig deeper."

She raised her gaze and looked intensely at Elsie — not wanting to need to say what she was thinking, imploring her to realize what she was on about. After a moment, Elsie's still-slowed brain began to hum to life again — and a realization sickened her.

"Anna, no, they wouldn't be able to find out anything. The hospital would never release that information to the press."

"They could subpoena it though. For the investigation," she began to pace, but stopped short when she realized she was making more noise than was preferred.

"They've not reason to."

"But they do — Green's gone to all this trouble to paint the night of the gala as some kind of . . .retribution for whatever trouble Dean Crawley has gotten the hospital into with Gillingham and Green. . ."

"He couldn't have known anything about you, Anna."

"Sure he could have! We don't know about him. Maybe he. . .maybe he knew someone, who was in Northampton when I was. Maybe. . ." she grimaced, her face paling, "Maybe he knows my step-father somehow."

"No, no," Elsie hushed, reaching her arms out to Anna. She hesitated, and didn't accept them — but she did quietly settle herself down on the edge of Elsie's bed, mindful to avert her gaze from the pillows.

"If they find out about what happened—"

"Even if — you have no motive," Elsie scoffed, "You didn't know anything about the deals Downton had with Gillingham and Green — none of us did!"

"I don't know," Anna said, shaking her head sadly, "If he's trying to imply that Downton has some kind of . . .vendetta. . .then wouldn't it make sense to send the least suspecting person off to do the job? I mean. . .not to say I'm an angel but. . .I do try to keep to myself, I keep out of the politics. . .maybe he'd say the Crawley's paid me off or something. . ."

Elsie rested her hand on Anna's knee, "I think you're giving this man far too much credit. I don't think he's some criminal mastermind. . . just a miserable bastard."

"In my experience, Dr. Hughes, men like Green don't have to be halfway intelligent to find ways to avoid being accountable for their crimes. Especially when they have power."

Elsie lowered her gaze, poor lass, wise beyond her years in the way only suffering affords. She sighed, her chest stinging. Her day — the last forty-eight hours, really — was finally catching up to her. The doctor within her was irate; how could she be so careless? When she lifted her head and looked to Anna, who had quietly begun to cry in hollow frustration, she felt another ache in her chest that had nothing to do with incisions.

"There's something else, though." Anna said, keeping her eyes on her hands, which she held tightly to her lap, "I've not really told you why I was in Northampton."

"I didn't ask," Elsie said quietly, "You're entitled to a degree of privacy beyond what was required when I hired you. You were treated for a depressive episode. No shame in that."

"Yes but — if they find out why I was sent there, what happened—they'd have reason to think me capable of hurting Mr. Green."

Elsie blinked, "You mean . . .what happened with your step-father? You shared that when you were hired; That you'd left home because he was abusive. Why would that imply you were violent?"

Anna's shoulders began to shake uncontrollably, "Because I didn't just leave, I ran. Because. . .one night, when I was a young teenager he— I knew he was going to come into my room, he did it every night — and — and before I went to bed I took a knife from the kitchen drawer and —" her tears choked her, and she brought a hand to her mouth, trying to quiet her sobs.

Elsie stiffened next to her, "Oh God," she said on a halting breath, "Anna did you —?"

She nodded wildly, "I didn't kill him," she squeaked, "I stabbed him — in the leg and —" she shook her head, biting down hard on the side of her hand. Elsie's jaw dropped and she felt her stomach sink equally as fast.

"Anna, I don't know—" Elsie said again, pressing a hand to her chest.

"I need your help," Anna cried, "Or else I wouldn't have told you!"

Pushing herself up from the bed, Anna started for the door — realizing as her hand hovered over it that she couldn't just bolt out — not unless Dr. Carson was gone. Elsie sighed, noticing her hesitation and understanding the reason why. She rose slowly, moving her hand from her chest to her breast to apply counter pressure as she crossed the room to ease the ache. She lifted her other hand and pressed it against Anna's damp cheek, thumbing away a few stray tears.

"I'll tell him to go out to the grocery," she said quietly, "He'll be chuffed to think I've asked him to fetch me some Walkers."

Anna gave her a small smile, but it faded almost as soon as she'd tried, "I'm so sorry, Dr. Hughes. I never meant to bring you into this. Really, I just . . .I didn't know who else to go to. I feel awful, I'm so stupid and — and really this is all my fault—"

Elsie sighed, "Anna, stop. I won't listen to that. Don't be so cruel to yourself."

"We can't let Dr. Carson—"

Elsie hushed her, "Wait here. I'll send him off— by the time he comes back it'll look ilke you just dropped by while he was out. And I'll put a kettle on and find you a jumper to wear—" she turned her hand slightly so that the backs of her fingers gently stroked Anna's cheek, "You're as cold as a witch's tit."

Finally, Anna did manage a bit of a smile.

Elsie pressed her palm against the side of her breast and shook her head, "Though not this witch's tit, mind you. Bloody thing feels like someone's pushed a hot poker through it."

Anna frowned, "I'll just go — when he's left. You need to rest. I've already riled you up enough as it is. . ."

Elsie waved her hand dismissively, "I won't rest, Anna. Not until we figure out what to do."

"Well, what I should do. . ." Anna said, "You're not responsible for any of this."

"If I'd not sent you, the night of the gala, if I'd not been —"

Anna's head snapped up to look at her straight-on, "Dr. Hughes, don't. Don't even go there. This wasn't your fault at all."

"I can't help but think — that if I'd not sent you. If I'd not had a drink. If I'd —"

"Please don't," Anna said, "I stand the thought that I've caused you pain in this. I've already caused the downfall of the hospital—"

"You're not to blame for that," Elsie said firmly, "That's all Robert Crawley's doing. Don't take that on."

Anna sighed, lowering her chin to her chest, "I want justice, Dr. Hughes — but at what cost?"

"Don't confuse justice with revenge," Elsie said, "Revenge is a cycle; justice is about closure. Whether or not you feel it, you're the one with the power now. What you do next will either continue that cycle — or break it."

"I just want this to end," Anna whispered.

"I know," Elsie said, putting a hand on Anna's shoulder, "And it will. No one should be able to do what he did and get away with it."

Δ

"The physical markers for this genetic abnormality are quite specific*," Dr. Clarkson said, removing his glasses and sliding them into his breast pocket, "The abnormally large, cystic kidneys. The hydrocephalus. Beginnings of polydactyly here, in the feet. We can test . . .for the genetic markers but that's normally done . . . after."

Robert blinked, "After . . .?"

"I've known you both a very long time. Had the privilege of working alongside you. Watching you raise your daughters. . .there is no easy way for me to say this."

"The baby will die," Cora said quietly. She hadn't spoken since she'd woken up during the initial ultrasound.

"If the fetus survives to term, it would die within days. Probably within hours after birth." Dr. Clarkson said, his voice measured, "Given that you are still in the second trimester, you have the option to terminate."

"But. . ." Robert said, swallowing hard, ". . .isn't she too far along?*"

Dr. Clarkson shook his head, "Not at all, actually. It would be a dilation and evacuation. Slightly different from a first term termination. Normally it could even be done as an outpatient procedure but. . .given that Cora is under the weather we could admit her and do the prep. By the time she's rehydrated, she'd be ready for the procedure."

Robert slunk down onto the bed at Cora's feet, resting his hand on her legs beneath the flimsy hospital blankets.

"It's an autosomal recessive condition. Each pregnancy carries a 25 percent chance. And, well, this is your fourth pregnancy. . ." Dr. Clarkson said, hearing his own empty words and letting them trail off. It was perhaps best for him to say nothing.

"If he did survive to term could we see him?" Cora whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Cora, darling," Robert said, reaching over to take her face in his hands.

"Perhaps," Dr. Clarkson said, "It may be worse that way."

"Will he—will he be in pain? If I. . .if I don't. . ." Cora hiccuped as Robert moved closer to her on the bed, taking her into his arms.

"While the fetus is still in utero it is. . .effectively sedate," Dr. Clarkson offered, "The neural pathways for feeling pain begin to develop at 24 weeks, but pain is not experienced until after the baby is born and the umbilical cord clamped*."

Robert sighed, running his hands through Cora's hair as he pressed her against his chest, "If the baby survived the birth — would he — would he be in pain then? Until he. . ." he let out a shuddered breath, trying to hold back his own tears.

"Newborns can experience pain immediately after birth," Dr. Clarkson said, "If tests and procedures are performed, they feel discomfort just like you and me. So, given the extent of the deformities the baby would be born with. . .it's reasonable to consider that his hours or day of life would be, at the very least, unpleasant."

"Oh God, Robert," Cora cried, grasping his lapels and burying her face against him.

"When do we need to make a decision?" Robert asked, looking at Dr. Clarkson helplessly.

"Sooner rather than later. Should you choose to terminate, there is a window of time during the second trimester where we could complete a dilation and evacuation. If it should happen later. . .we would need to induce a preterm delivery and. . .it could be even more traumatic."

Robert sighed, rubbing Cora's back gently, "Thank you, Richard. We are . . . incredibly grateful to you."

"I only wish it could have been just simply a flu," Dr. Clarkson said, his own eyes beginning to dampen, "I'll leave you — but I won't be far. If you have more questions. If either of you need anything — or the girls — just call."

"We will. Thank you."

Dr. Clarkson nodded and left the room soundlessly, so quietly in fact that Cora didn't even realize he'd left until she lifted her head for a breath and realized he was no longer standing next to her hospital bed. Robert moved to gently lay her back against the pillows, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"Robert, I'm so sorry," Cora whispered, tears streaming down her face, "I wanted you to have a son, I wanted to give you a son —"

"You've nothing to be sorry for, darling," he said, feeling his own tears beginning to dampen his cheeks, his chin.

Cora only cried harder, struggling to catch her breath. After a moment, her eyes widened, and pressed her hand against the top of her belly. Robert flicked his gaze down, only to lift it a moment later, focusing on her haunted expression.

"I can't do this," she breathed, "I can't spend the next few months feeling him, knowing that he — that he—"

Robert reached up to wipe the tears from his face, then let his hand hover over her belly a moment, not clear on whether he was asking her permission — or trying to decide if he could stand to form the memory of what he knew he would feel.

"You don't have to, Robert," Cora said, lifting her hand to nudge his away. But that decided for him, and without a word, without so much as a breath, he laid his hand over hers and together, they stepped into grief.

Δ

Cora had been moved to an inpatient room not long after Dr. Clarkson had appeared, and Sybil had been ceremoniously kicked out of the room while they talked. She slumped against the wall and watched nurses bumbling in and out of patient rooms and was silently listing off possibly diagnoses when she heard the unmistakable sound of her Aunt Rosamund coming down the hall.

"Sybil, darling," she said, "What's happened? Your father texted me—"

"Something's wrong with the baby," Sybil said quietly, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Oh fuck," Rosamund breathed, covering her face with her hands. Peeking around them, she looked behind her and then, without paying any mind to her pencil skirt, slunk down the length of the wall to sit next to Sybil on the cold, tile floor.

Neither spoke for a moment, the unit thrumming around them. After a few minutes, Rosamund reached over and took Sybil's hand, letting her head lean back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Did your mum ever tell you the story of how you tried to stop my wedding to your uncle Duke?" Rosamund said, giving her hand a squeeze.

Sybil furrowed her brow, "Wasn't I like, a month old when you married him?"

Rosamund chuckled, "Not even — maybe three weeks? Your poor mum was exhausted. I let her off bridesmaid duty. You were an absolute peach the whole ceremony, slept soundly, didn't make a peep — until your father gave me away — he did, you know, because our father had passed — but when the minister asked if anyone objected to the marriage — you know, speak now or forever hold your piece— you started to fuss! Rang out through the whole chapel, your little mewls of discontent," she laughed, pressing her fingers to her lips, "Poor Cora, she was so embarrassed. And you know her, she tears up when she's embarrassed, so then she started to cry — Ros, she doesn't mean it! She doesn't mean it! Her hormones were still a royal mess and of course the entire church started to laugh — and Cora fumbled around for your pacifier and stuck it into your little mouth and on we went. Then when we headed down the aisle after the vows, Duke paused right in front of the pew, leaned down, and kissed you right on the nose."

Sybil grinned, "So, I was mouthy from the start — is that what you're saying?"

"Precisely what I'm saying, luvvie," Rosamund laughed, pulling Sybil's hand into her lap. They both looked up as a curious nurse passed them by — but decided against asking why they were in a heap on the floor.

"Did you and Uncle Duke ever want your own kids?"

Rosamund sighed, "We didn't . . .not want them. It was just never the right time. We tried a few times. . .right after we were married. It didn't. . .it just didn't happen and then I started heading the department and. . .well," she let her head loll toward Sybil, "but we loved being your auntie and unckie, even if you did try to stop our nuptials," she said, reaching over and tapping Sybil on the nose.

"I miss him," Sybil said quietly, "We never, ever see Uncle Harry. Or Grammie Martha. You and Duke were always there at Christmas and our birthdays," Sybil giggled, "And Duke was funny. He would have been a really good Dad."

Rosamund felt her chest tighten and she fought against it— fought against being pulled back into faded memories that were still —always—painfully raw.

"He would have been many good things," Rosamund said quietly, "He was many good things — he was — all that was good about me, really," she sighed, letting her eyes close, "I loved him, Sybbie. So much. More than. . .more than I thought I could love anyone."

"Oh, Auntie Ros, I'm sorry," Sybil whispered, leaning her head on Rosamund's shoulder.

"It's okay, darling," Rosamund said, stroking her hair, "I wish he were here for all this. He'd know what to do. He'd . . .he'd make it all right."

The door to Cora's room opened and they both looked up as Robert stuck his head around the corner, his eyes settling on them — somewhat perplexed.

"Hi Bobby," Rosamund said quietly, giving Sybil a light squeeze.

"Um. . .Syb, go sit with your mum. I've got to talk to Auntie Ros."

Sybil clamored to get up, and practically ran into Cora's room. Robert pulled the door to and glanced down at Rosamund, who pet the floor next to her.

Robert hesitated, and Rosamund gave him a look.

"C'mon Bobby. Sink to my level."

Δ

"Mary?"

Looking up from the computer where she had been finishing her documentation, Mary was somewhat miffed to see Edith standing next to her.

"What do you want," Mary sighed, not looking up from her work.

"Mum's here," Edith said softly.

"No surprise," Mary said, "But she's late to the party. Dad's already given his statement."

"She's not here for that. She's in a room."

Mary did look up then — "What?"

"Dad said. . .there's something wrong with the baby. She's sick and. . .well, he said we should come."

Mary stiffened, "Just let me finish this and —"

"I don't think we should wait, Mary." Edith said, "Just leave it."

Mary nodded, rising slowly from her seat. Then, she and Edith took off wordlessly down the hall.

Δ

"Isobel there is nothing that you could say that would inspire me to lift my ass from this chair," Violet said, pinching her nose between her thumb and forefinger, "I don't know where you've been — because you've certainly not been here, helping me, but this is the first moment I've had alone today and I do not intend to let you ruin it."

"It's Cora," Isobel said quietly,

"Oh, for fuck's sake it's always Cora," Violet snapped, banging her hand down hard against her desk, "I'm not pleased that she wasn't here for Robert's statement—"

"She's here now—"

"Well, does she want a medal?"

"Violet, christ, stop it." Isobel said sharply, "She's a patient. The baby . . ." her voice trailed off and she felt her throat begin to ache, "She's going to lose the baby, Violet."

"What?" Violet whispered, "What do you mean?"

"Robert's with her now. They've talked to the doctors but. . .you should come down."

Violet said nothing, just shakily rose from her desk and took a few hesitant steps across the length of her office to Isobel. When she stood before her, her friend, perhaps her only friend, she did not resist when Isobel reached down and took her hand, giving it a consoling squeeze.

Δ

"More tea, love?" Elsie said, reaching across the table for the teapot. Anna shook her head, tucking her hands beneath her thighs as she sat at the kitchen table across from Elsie.

"No," she said quietly, "I really should get going. I was just going to wait for Dr. Carson to come back so you wouldn't have to be alone,"

Elsie sighed, "You're very kind," she said, "I hope you feel a bit better. Now that we talked and got it all mostly sorted."

"I do," Anna said, offering her a hopeful smile, "I don't know what I'd do without you, Dr. Hughes. Really, I don't know what Downton would do without you and Dr. Carson."

"Speaking of," Elsie said, turning to look at the wall clock, "I wonder where he's gotten off to, Good lord. Did he go to Glasgow to get the shortbread?"

Anna giggled, "He would."

Elsie hummed a light laugh, then downed the last of her tea, "I owe him, though. He's kept me from splitting my seams — well, at least he managed to sew them up when I did rip them. . ."

"Ouch," Anna hissed, "Well, not that it's any of my business, but I'm awfully glad you two are finally an item — now don't worry, I won't say a word. I certainly didn't mean to go stumbling in on your secret."

Elsie frowned, "What?"

"Well, you know. He's . . .he's not here as your doctor."

"Well, no, I suppose he's not —"

"I swear I won't say a thing — but I'm happy. I'm happy for both of you."

"Anna, wait a minute," Elsie said, laughing nervously, "What are you on about?"

Anna blinked, her face falling, "I just. . .I saw the blankets and the pillow and thought, well, I just assumed," her face flushed and she brought her fingers to her lips, "Oh, Dr. Hughes, I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassed."

Elsie opened her mouth to protest, but was cut short by Dr. Carson plowing through the front door, his arms full of brown paper bags, heaped with groceries.

"I got the biscuits and a few other things — figured you'd not protest if I —" Charles began, but as he came around the corner, he startled at the sight of Anna, "Oh, Anna! Sorry, didn't meant to interrupt."

"I was just leaving, Dr. Carson. Only dropped by to look in on our patient but I see she's in very good hands," Anna said, getting up from the table. She nodded to Elsie, and headed toward the hall, but Charles stopped her.

"Are you okay, Anna?" he asked quietly, "I hope you aren't leaving on account of me. Certainly if you'd. . .you'd prefer to stay, so you're not alone this evening—?"

"I won't be alone, Dr. Carson. Dr. Bates is off his shift now and he'll keep me company," she leaned in, lifting herself up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "And I hope you'll be doing the same for Dr. Hughes?"

He flushed, looking down at her as she gave him a knowing glance.

"I'm doing my best to," he said after a moment, the grocery bags rustling in his arms.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Anna said, turning to give a slight wave to Elsie.

"Anna?" she called, "Do give me a call in the morning? Let me know how you're feeling?"

"I will," Anna said quietly, flicking her gaze up to Dr. Carson, "but not too early, promise."

Charles hovered awkwardly in the hallway a moment until Anna had left, then, took a few uncertain steps into the kitchen, clutching the grocery bags to his chest.

"Nice of her to stop by," he mumbled, suddenly feeling entirely out of place in her apartment — though she had asked him to stay.

"She's doing remarkably well, considering," Elsie said, stifling a yawn, "She has a brave heart, that girl does."

"I suspect it takes one to know one," Charles said, moving to set the groceries down on the sideboards. He heard her giggle from the table.

"Either you bought up all the Walkers' in Chiswick or you deviated from my request slightly."

"Added to, perhaps," he said, "I can't, in good faith, as your doctor, condone you subsisting on shortbread for the duration of your recovery."

"Well," she said, leaning back in her chair, "If there's a dram or two of whiskey in there, I'll be all set. I'm a Scot, aye?"

He turned over his shoulder to look at her, raising his eyebrows, "No haggis?"

She shrugged, "It's not terrible if it's done right. . ."

"I'd prefer not to know what it means to do haggis wrong," he laughed, lifting a box of biscuits from the bag and handing them to her, "Dig in, then."

He turned back to unpacking his wares and she opened the box, taking out a biscuit, hesitating a moment, then taking another, before closing it again.

"Thank you, Dr. Carson," she said quietly, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

"You're most welcome, Dr. Hughes," he said, struggling not to drop each item as he lifted it from the bag; and Charles Carson, accomplished surgeon, was not a man of shaking hands and tenuous nerves.

Elsie's phone buzzed in her pocket; she'd nearly forgotten about it, but the demanding hum against her upper thigh served as either an intrusion or a reprieve from the thickened air in the room; she wasn't sure which. Squinting at the phone, she saw that Anna had texted her.

ANNA: (5:48 PM)

Dr. Hughes! Sorry. I know I just left, but I realized I forgot to return your jumper. Shall I just return it next time I see you?

ELSIE (5:49 PM)

That'll be fine, dear. Keep it for now—then I won't worry about you catching a chill.

Setting her phone down on the table, she laughed, letting it dissolve into a pleased little hum.

"What's that about then?" Charles asked, leaning against the counter after he'd put the last of the groceries into the refrigerator.

"Anna — sweet girl. I'd let her borrow a jumper of mine while we were sitting here. She ran off with it by mistake."

Charles blinked, "Was she cold?"

"Shivering, just about," Elsie said quietly — then, she stopped short, something sending her own body shuddering. A sudden memory. She flicked her gaze up at him and he met it, unwavering.

"I wasn't sure . . .if you remembered anything about last night," he said deliberately,

"Oh God," she mouthed, her cheeks pinking up, "Dr. Carson — I was — as you well know, I was sedated. Practically anesthetized. Anything that I did, or said—"

"Dr. Hughes — no, no. Nothing . . .improper happened. You . . .from the anesthesia. You had the shakes — you know that happens from time to time. A patient gets those painful, uncontrollable shivers in recovery and. . .you try to calm them."

Elsie swallowed hard, looking down at her lap, "Somehow I doubt you crawl into bed and hold every patient with post-operative shivering,"

He cleared his throat, gripping the edge of the counter in a futile attempt to steady himself, "No — no, I suppose not but —"

A wavering silence passed between them as he let his thought hang there — she wasn't sure what had intended to say but she was abruptly overwhelmed by the realization that she knew what she'd wanted him to imply: that she was different, special, even. More than a patient, more than a . . .friend.

"Maybe I should go," he said, though his words were so weak that he didn't even seem to believe it to be the best possible course of action.

"No," she said, perhaps a little too loudly; she thought she saw him startle slightly.

"I can at least help you fix a proper meal," he said, nodding to the biscuit crumbs on the table beneath her hands, "As I said, you can't live off those."

She gave him a small smile, then immediately pressed her lips together to stifle it, "Dr. Carson, I . . .I hope you don't think me ungrateful."

"Not at all," he frowned, "Whyever would I think that?"

"I didn't think for one moment that you'd done anything improper," she said, "I didn't trust that I'd not done something. . ." she felt the heat rising in her face and goosebumps tickled her arms, ". . .you know, the sedatives. The trauma. I might have done something rash."

"You didn't," he said quietly, "You shook for a bit. Then you slept," he took a few steps toward her, then slowly lowered himself into the chair across from her at the table.

"I don't snore, do I?" she asked, biting her lip slightly.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, opening up his face in gentle empathy.

"No," he said sweetly, "You don't."

They smiled shyly at one another, then, he sighed — drumming his fingers on the tabletop, "If you'd like me to stay this evening I'll fix up the couch in your den. Which, I hear, is not half-bad."

She snorted, then covered her mouth self consciously, "I suppose you wouldn't know, would you?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her, "I should really run home and grab my overnight bag, though. I've amassed more than a 5 o'clock shadow at this point in the day and I really need a change of clothes."

"That seems reasonable," she said quietly, so quietly in fact that he didn't quite hear her, so he leaned across the table a bit. When she looked up, she was a bit taken aback to find him much closer.

"Only if you'd like me to stay. If you're feeling well then perhaps you'd rather —"

"Is it so terrible to admit I don't really like the idea of being alone?"

"Not at all," he said, "I can't say I'd sleep well if I were, given all that's happened. And I don't even have healing stitches to keep me up all night."

She reached across the table and took his hand, "Thank you, Dr. Carson. Really. Thank you for. . .your generosity, but also, for not thinking me silly."

"For what?" he said, shaking his head slightly, "I'd say you've had a perfectly reasonable reaction to everything that's transpired in the last twenty-four hours."

"But what about the last . . .twenty-four years?" she said, locking eyes with him.

He watched as a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, the way she rolled her lips tightly together to quiet it — but he could see it twinkling in her eye, and it made something stir deep within him — made him want to laugh and cry all on the same breath.

"Well. . ." he said, his voice rumbling low in his throat, "To quote Longfellow, Nothing is too late, 'till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.


* This particular genetic condition worked well given Cora's medical history; still, it's devastating, but I needed to create a medically believable circumstance.

*Terminations are, in a few states in the U.S., not even legal in the second trimester. The usual method is a little more advanced than a 1st trimester termination and it's called a Dilation and Evacuation.

* I know this is really densely scientific and "medicalese" — but they have studied this rather extensively because it's an oft-quoted aspect of the Pro Life/Pro Choice debate. I don't want to impart any personal belief here, but because this story is founded in real medicine — I'm focusing on what is supported with peer-reviewed research because that's the only way the story can be written and continue to be accurate and education — and not just entertainment. It's true that the neurological pathways for pain begin develop at around 24 weeks, but they are not advance enough for actual pain. Pain itself is an incredibly complex process that we don't even fully understand in adults — but we're learning more and more about it.