AN: I am so, so sorry for the delayed updates at the moment, life is just completely chaotic. I would like to thank the support I have received from many reviewers (including a great many guests) who have been asking about updates it kept me typing this chapter, in the time I did have, so do keep it up. I hope I have the tone of this chapter right but I found in incredibly difficult to write.

I am only going to say that I hope the final three chapters will all be finished and uploaded before the end of January, but I am not setting any promises.

Please review and I hope you enjoy.

His toes curl against something warm. It had been a long time since that had happened. They flex and separate trying to decipher if the warmth is what he thinks is it.

Cora.

Her deep breathing is quite clear beside him, but it rattles a little as he curls his toes back towards where the warmth had been, brushing.

Slowly in his half delirious state he remembers the thrills of the day before and that Cora being so close that their feet were rubbing together made sense. They'd gone to dinner and then slept together. When they'd got back on-board he'd ordered room service and they'd eaten on the bedsheets before falling onto them in an embrace that had seen him to sleep. The same embrace in which upon focussing more fully, he finds he is still in.

He is spooned around her, his chest less than than an inch from her back. One arm beneath the pillows the other draped across her waist. It is an unusual position for them, usually it was she that spooned herself against his back to keep warm, cuddling her bent arms between his back and her chest like a baby. What is still more odd is that they had slept all night curled together with him clutching her. Usually they might fall to sleep like this and wake within two hours and she would redress herself and they'd curl into the other position. Not this time though.

He dips his head to rub his nose over her hair that is tumbled between them before leaving a feather soft kiss to her shoulder. Her shoulders always surprised him. He thought of them as a place that had much bone and would therefore be hard but he'd found a fascination with pressing his lips there a long time ago. The skin was somehow baby smooth, particularly on the back of the shoulder. It also represented something larger for Robert. He was never able to completely escape how protective he felt of Cora and how delighted he was that she had opened up to him after what had happened in her past. He had at the earlier stages of their relationship, seen her progression of being happy to face away from him, without being scared, as a solid step forward and one that showed, that with him at least, she wasn't always on alert. Therefore he had taken to kissing her there, in his mind it was a way of telling her that he saw that she was content this way with him and he was acknowledging that he wouldn't hurt her. He'd never explained any of that to her but it sat as clear as the first day he'd realised it in his mind.

She doesn't respond to his touch and it pleases him to know she is sleeping contentedly. He closes his own eyes again and pushes his toes further down into the sheets trying to find the warmth to combat the slight shivers awaking his upper body.

He tries to move the bedding in a way that won't disturb her but will cover him but she must, as usual, be clinging to it somewhere because it won't move. He gives up and instead takes his arm from around her waist and shuffles until his shoulders are beneath the duvet.

"Robert..." her voice is muffled and has a dream like quality. Her voice mingles with the sheets as they rustle with her movement. She rolls slowly over until she faces him, her eyes fluttering as she tries to hold them open but they refuse her. Her fingers find his chest and a funny little sigh escapes her lips before she falls suddenly still, her eyes closing and staying so with a sigh. He smiles as her forehead falls against his chin and then slips to his collarbone as she relaxes further; she must have been dreaming and his movement had disrupted her.

He holds still, hoping that he too would be able to slip back into his slumber. The clock across from them reads a time which indicated they weren't too late yet. They would still be able to enjoy the sights of their latest port (which Robert couldn't frankly remember) all afternoon.

"I love him Mom." Robert's eyes open wide as he listens to her very clear dream-talking. She had the tones exactly as one might imagine them in a conversation. "And no, he is not a buffoon. I did think he was but he's not. You won't stop me. I'm marrying Robert because I love him." He can't help but let his mouth be drawn up into a grin. There is a strange swell of emotion too which makes liquid simmer at the corner of his eyes. It was nice to think she felt so strongly and clearly if she was having the dream now she must have been reminded of what had transpired a decade ago and she could still relate to those feelings. Meaning she was probably still happy. He dips his head to kiss her hair. Thank goodness they had found each other again.

She starts at his smoothing of her hair, and he watches as her eyes flicker again, trying to decide if it is worth opening for good.

"Cora, good morning. Did I wake you?" Her head falls back onto the pillow and she stretches her arms out from where they had been curled; her eyes still shut.

"Ummm."

"Is that 'yes you woke me Robert' or 'no you didn't?'" Her mouth draws up into a smile and she opens her eyes a little.

"I don't know. But you're here and that's important." Her eyes open fully and she seems to take a second to reorientate herself. If he didn't know better he would think she was hungover. With the opening of her eyes they seem to become serious and she looks at him with eyes that tell him she was silently thanking him. She lifts her hand and trails it down his cheek, her nails gently scratching at his stubble. "Robert?"

"Yes darling."

"You know that I love you very, very much." He turns his mouth into her palm.

"Of course. And I, in turn, love you wholeheartedly Mrs Cora Crawley." He watches her blush, it was a very long time since he had used that way of addressing her. He takes the opportunity to kiss her, it had been to long since he'd lunged for her lips while she was blushing. He takes her by surprise, if the immediately parting of her lips to take a breath, is any indication. There is a throaty giggle mixed in somewhere too, followed by her nails pushing along his scalp as his hair is trailed between her knuckles.

They simultaneously shift their body weight, pulling him to rest more above her. He is careful not to lean over completely (keeping his lower body off of her) so he doesn't crush her.

Her mouth is unrelenting, pushing and pulling his lips. Her teeth nibble at his lower lip every so often and her tongue take deep dives into his mouth, tickling his own. When she was like this it was hard to believe their relationship had been platonic for the better part of half a year.

He would love nothing more than to oblige her hand that pulls his onto her breast and silently demands that he caresses it but the honest truth is he wants to talk with her for a while, just lie peacefully and make her blush and smile.

"Cora..." her mouth hardly lets him stop, her chin knocking his as she pulls his lips back onto her own. "Cora," he pulls further from her this time, separating them obviously, "I thought we could order breakfast and talk and cuddle for a while." Her eyes brows pucker together and finger half smoothes, half scratches, a line down his chest. His skin erupts in a splattering of goose flesh and she laughs seductively, her knee pushing into his hip.

"Or you could make me more hungry for food by satisfying how much I want you." His mind laughs at the irony of the whole situation. It was men that usually spewed such arguments and it was certainly not much in Cora's nature to be driven by desire. She was driven my love, sure, but from what he had always seen of her desire, it came from that, it wasn't as singular as she is making it sound now. His more pragmatic nature pulls him away from her.

"Later, I want to enjoy your company while we're away from home in every way. And as much as making love with you is terrific fun, to coin your phrase, my dear, I do want to talk and laugh with you too." She smiles in defeat and moves to slump against his shoulder, a long yawn vibrating across his skin.

"You're right. And, maybe, I'm a little tired anyway." He doesn't question her being tired despite the later hour of the morning. Yesterday had been a long day, with lots of revelations and a vast amount of sticky sex on a hot day in Venice.

It doesn't take them long to decide on food. The breakfast menu wasn't exactly overly diverse and the grumbling of his stomach in particular seemed to spell the words 'full english'. He dials and orders and is more than pleasantly surprised when in the time it takes them both to shower their food is with them.

They eat in silence, Robert far too busy chewing the rich spiced sausages and crispy bacon to leave room for talking. Cora seems to be the same, or at least every time he lifts his eyes to her, her mouth is full. He takes her beans as he goes (despite his coaxing since he had first discovered her dislike he had never yet seen her taste one).

"Do you think the girls are okay?" Her question comes as her cutlery is placed on an empty plate. He finishes his mouthful before replying.

"I'm sure. Rosamund seemed content enough when we called yesterday morning."

"I miss them. I know they squabble and Mary's complains about her food and the attention Edith gets as she learns to walk and things but I miss it in a weird way. Even getting up early to Edith crying or Mary demanding breakfast. It has a familiarity which it seems odd to be without." He couldn't agree more, although he had to admit to preferring this kind of morning, where he wasn't woken at the break of dawn by his girls, but could instead awake when he was ready to, with Cora in his arms. But watching them play and learn new things was a joy.

"Me too. They are beautiful girls and Mary is already showing signs of having not only the Crawley stubbornness but the Levinson one too." Cora laughs at that.

"How true. Edith seems more quiet but I can't tell if that's just because Mary talks so much she isn't sure whether to try her hand at talking more or if she is struggling a little with talking." Robert had never thought much about Edith's progression. She was heading for eighteen months and perhaps Mary had been uttering a few more words at this stage, but Robert couldn't say he didn't think Edith was grasping it. Alone in the mornings with her recently (when Cora had not roused from exhaustion and grief) and he'd been left to feed the two of them he found that once Mary was eating, Edith readily gurgled away saying random words and trying to string them together. She would even parrot back some of the things he said.

"She grasps it. You're right about Mary though. When I think about when Edith has spoken it is only when her sister is quiet."

"Umm, I don't want to separate them either as I am still holding out hope that Mary might stop being jealous of her sister for no reason. I don't want it blossoming from what it is now. Separating them will only make Mary stay stuck in her world where she thinks we value Edith more. Equally, Edith might talk more given time to interact with her sister ,who is on a more similar level to her than either of us." He leans over to kiss her forehead, moving the trays of food onto the dressing table. It was adorable how much she talked and worried about the girls. He worried about them too, of course, but Cora was a mother and it showed more often than not.

"Edith will be fine. Now, where was it we left off earlier." He sits back down on the bed, swinging his legs up and pushing his nose across her cheek in one simple move. Her skin is soft and oozes the scent of the lavender soap she preferred. There is still a faint whiff of her perfume from yesterday, as his nose edges over the curve of her jaw to her throat. She sighs softly, her hand reaching forward to pull away his dressing gown.

He replaces his nose with his lips on the curve of her throat, feeling the slight vibration on her skin where her pulse pounds. He kisses downwards to start with, pushing the top of her dressing gown away and peppering some kisses on the softer flesh that curves into her breasts. She lies back, her hand still firmly held to his gown when his lips brush a little lower. He doesn't give her the satisfaction of tasting her nipple and instead adjusts himself to bring their lips together. She makes her annoyance clear when she doesn't kiss him back for a while but it doesn't last long, her gentle sign filling his mouth when he lets his hands linger on her sides. He's about to roll over and pull her atop him when he hears the distinctive buzzing of his phone. Cora must hear it too because she pulls away and struggles to sit up.

"Oh my goodness! It will be Rosamund. We said she shouldn't call us unless there was a problem so..." her face is a picture of panic as she grabs the phone. "Rosamund what is it? What's the matter? Are the girls okay?" No sound comes from the other end and Cora looks up to him quizzically. "Rosamund? Robert she isn't saying anything. Oh my goodness what if..." She tries turning up the sound on the side but she shakes her head again. Robert sees the tears forming at the side of her eyes and takes the phone.

"Rosamund can you hear me. Roz-"

He stops dead. There was a sound now. A distinct sound.

Crying.

Rosamund's sobs. She mutters something but he can't work it out.

"Rosamund seriously, I can't hear you and you're scaring us silly. Are the girls okay? We said not to ring unless there was an emergency. That we would call you. What's happened?" Robert can feel his heart hammering in his chest, pushing at the cage that held it in place. He feels an aching in his head, a dull ache behind his eyes. Something had to be terribly wrong if Rosamund was crying. She never cried. Now she couldn't seem to say it. Images of his daughters' gone from the world, not breathing, in hospital race before him and he feels faint. The air stale and constricting around him.

"Dead." She mumbles something else too, but that's the only word he gets. He falls into the chair, not noticing the thump to his lower back, the burning behind his eyes was far bigger.

"Rosamund," he takes a steadying breath pushing away the tears, "please you're going to have to speak up. Who is dead?" Cora's behind him, her nails piercing the skin on his shoulders; her breathing inaudible.

"He's dead." Robert still isn't sure whether her tears are covering the words and she hadn't just said she rather than the 'he' he heard. The only 'he' Robert could think of was Marmaduke.

"'Duke's dead?" The answer this time is clearer. Not very clear but he hears it well enough.

"Yes." There is a large amount of rustling at the other end of the line. Robert doesn't move, or say anything. His brother-in-law was dead. How? When? Where? Those questions floated in his head but none of them would make his mouth function. He just stares ahead in complete shock. He hated to admit there had been a tinge of relief when it was clear it wasn't the girls but that had lasted less than a millisecond. He could tell Cora was the same. Her breathing had recovered a little but her hands had relaxed on his shoulders in that slow fashion which showed her head was churning as she tried to understand what she had heard.

"Robert?" His mother's shrill voice down the phone regroups his thoughts.

"I'm here. How...what happened?"

"His got knocked off his motorbike. The police came to the house an hour ago." Robert takes a steadying breath. He'd liked Marmaduke very much. Loved him really. And now, now the charismatic chap was no longer with them.

"Oh god. You need us to come home?" He doesn't know why he poses it as a question. The answer was clear.

"I'm sorry to destroy your break but Roz can hardly stand up let alone look after Mary and Edith and I think I need to support Roz and-"

"It's fine. Cora and I will be back in contact as soon as we've sorted a flight. I can't guarantee us getting one today obviously, not all our destinations have airports, let alone a flight to the UK."

"Thank you. It's all horrible I must admit. I have never seen your sister in such a state." His mother always amazed him, she never seemed to anticipate other people's feelings. She knew, rather then felt, it was terrible and couldn't see that Rosamund was clearly going to take a very long time to recover, if she ever did.

"What did you expect? The man she loves is dead and in such a sudden manner she is now looking at the whole life she had planned shattered before her. Mama, I know you and Pa weren't completely besotted wth each other, you were close friends. But you do love Roz and I, how would you feel if you lost one of us? That's what Rosamund is feeling multiplied by a million." He closes his eyes against the tears he feels threatening. He didn't want to get angry but he knows his sister and she is going to need to be dragged through these next years of her life. Forced into participating. In Marmaduke she had found everything. There was to be no children, they knew that, so life was each other. Rosamund had never been a person who did things by halves, and her emotions were no exception. Robert knows without a doubt she will close in on herself and become more like his mother, with a harsh exterior that covered a broken spirit. He wanted to prevent that if he could and as he wasn't there his mother needs some coaching.

"Robert, I will be nice. I'll try. I can't say I ever warmed to the man but I know he meant a lot to your sister." That was a start at least. But as ever his mother swerves back to being factual within half a breath. "She's got to identify the body formally this afternoon and I'm going with her. That secretary of yours, Elsie, has agreed to watch the girls for a few hours, I hope that's okay?"

"Yes. Can't think of anyone better."

"And I've called Carson. He's on his way to London and will be looking after Mary and Edith until you and Cora get home. I know he gets on well with them and can be trusted. If you have someone else-"

"No. Carson is fine. You focus on Rosamund. Give Carson my mobile number and tell him to call if the girls play him up or he needs to ask something. I'd rather he trouble us than you and Roz. Speak soon, bye." The line goes dead and Robert falls forward, holding his head in his hands.

He hears drawers opening and closing in the bedroom, Cora didn't need to be told to pack. He just sits rubbing at his temples. He tries to imagine what his sister is feeling but he can't. The second he so much as thinks of a life without Cora tears slide onto his cheeks. He isn't just upset for Rosamund though, Marmaduke had been a good friend to he and Cora. The four of them had rallied together against his mother and he'd been the adored uncle of Mary and Edith. They were going to take the news badly, even at their young age it was going to become clear quite quickly that Uncle Marmaduke had mysteriously disappeared. To tell them they would never see him again was going to be unfathomable. It was unfathomable to Robert.

Marmaduke had driven them to the airport less than a week ago and slapped Robert on the back and wished him luck. He'd even managed to make Cora smile when he'd whispered something to her and kissed her cheek goodbye. Cora hadn't smiled in months.

He doesn't hear Cora enter the room and with some shock he looks up to her as she pats his shoulder and finds he can't see her. His vision is blurred from tears he hadn't realised were falling.

"I've looked up details of the airport here. There's a flight this evening and still spaces. I'm going to go to reception and tell them the situation, see what they can do about us paying our current bill and whether they can recommend the best way to get to the airport." He nods faintly. He hears the rustle of her grabbing her bag and her footsteps disappearing to the door.

On impulse he stands and grabs her trailing wrist as she nears the door. He pulls her around sharply, violently even (something he tried to avoid at all costs), and crashes his mouth to hers, their teeth grazing in the process. Her hands cup his chin roughly and he feels her pull herself onto her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. Her wet cheeks graze against his own damp skin as they kiss.

They had everything that one really needed in life. They had each other and with it the potential to be happy. They had chosen not to be as happy as they could be recently and this was a moment to remember that the disagreements were like hole punches in paper. Small and insignificant. They didn't tear the paper or effect its stability. They could be forgotten, overlooked.

A tear, on the other hand, cannot be overlooked and his sister had just had her paper torn in two by a violent, unforeseen force.

Robert wasn't going to tear his own paper in half. He and Cora might punch holes in it a thousand times. But they weren't going to tear it. Not of their own making anyway.

The connection was easy. Robert's mind could only think of that day. Of how this scene must have played out the day the police had come to tell Rosamund, no doubt it had played out much the same as today. It had all began quite innocently.

Mary was calling around with George early this morning; Cora had thought it would be nice for the children to spend the morning playing together.

Robert would have complained, it was a Saturday and he would have liked to sleep in, but he was aware Edward had been restless this week and Cora hoped a morning playing with his niece and nephew would calm him down. The weather had not allowed for Cora to play with him in the garden, or take him out other than to the supermarket, and he was definitely a little boy who liked to have the freedom to run about and not be faced by the same four walls for hours. He hadn't been to nursery this week either, as there had been a bout of a stomach bug and Cora didn't want Edward picking it up.

Therefore he had been up early, at his usual time, leaving Cora to rest, and readied Edward for the day. His little boy had been excited at seeing him rather than his Mama and gurgled away about 'Papa not Mama.' Robert had told him his sisters were coming and George was going to come to play. Edward had then muttered away about 'trains' and his favourite soft toy teddy. He had snatched the said toy from his bed with the intention of 'pwaying with 'orge' and ran from the room only slowing to take the railing of the stair case (he couldn't reach the hand rail so used the vertical columns) and begin to take the steps one at a time. Robert offers to help him, or carry him, but he shakes his head stubbornly.

"Mama let me. She stand there." He points at the step directly in front of him and Robert moves to stand before his little boy. It was still surreal sometimes having a young toddler in the house again. Things he had got used to doing, leaving mugs of drink on low tables and not always putting his laptop out of Edward's reach had caught him out a few times. There had been some spills on the carpet as Edward attempted to use a left over cup of coffee like his special cup, and Robert had entered the living room before now to find him bashing the keyboard of his laptop. But the joys of it all far outweighed the disasters. It was the most wonderful thing to come home and open the door to Edward either toddling towards him (as was more common now) or Cora holding him in her arms, prompting him to speak to him. He never felt better than he did in those moments of each day, leaning to kiss his wife and cuddle their adored Edward. It was somehow easier to appreciate fatherhood when he was older. He had loved it with the girls, of course, but it was different then. It had been a distinct part of his life; changing nappies and not getting any sleep. Sybil had been better but then they'd been dealing with two other children going to school, responsibilities seemed to stream from their ears. Somehow with Edward, because all his sisters were essentially adults and were conducting their lives themselves he was finding it far easier to juggle being a father and a husband. He and Cora had definitely not had to give up so much of their 'couple' time because they were not moving from one little girl's demands to the next. Once Edward was asleep, he was asleep and they could do as they chose. Yes, Sybil was still at the dinner table with them and watching the popular television with them, but she also spent nights at Mary's and evenings out with friends (and Tom, of course, much to Robert's annoyance).

Edward teeters on one step near the bottom, his eyes lifting to see how close he is to the ground rather than watching his footing, but he doesn't fall. He rushes for the lounge calling for George.

"Edward he isn't arriving until after breakfast. Come with me and lets get you some food." He eats heartily and happily swings his legs beneath the table. Robert doesn't talk to him, aside from urging him to eat some more at one point, as he knew well enough, trying to coax a child into talking when they were eating was a sure way to make a mess.

The doorbell rings sooner than Robert is expecting (of course Mary would be early) and Edward demands to be lifted from his seat. Edith is quicker to the door than him (she was still living half her time downstairs and half in Bertie's house) and Marigold and Edward race around by their feet.

Mary doesn't put George down in the hallway, his crawling could take him anywhere, including back out the door if they weren't careful.

They all wander into the lounge, Robert still nursing his cup of coffee. Edith dives onto the floor with the children, helping them play trains and teddies. She bounces George on her lap and swings him in the air to make him laugh. Robert saw everything in Edith that he had seen in Cora when she had played with all of their children.

Mary on the other hand lowers herself onto the settee and crosses her ankles, murmuring from a distance when George looks around to her. She eventually turns her gaze to him, one eyebrow raised to complain over Cora not being up. She raises her eyebrows further when he says she's rather tired.

"I thought you two had finally grown up?"

"Mary don't be so scandalous! Edward has been difficult this week and your mother is not as young as she was when you and your sisters were girls."

"Be that as it may, you have worked all week and no doubt would have rather stayed in bed while Mama sorted the plans she had made. I wouldn't make plans and then not carry them out." No, indeed Mary would not. Robert wonders briefly if Matthew being so ill had not served Mary well. She had become even harder, and harsher than she once had been. He doubted if she is going to cope with what is to come she seemed, whenever he saw her, to be struggling to form a bond with George with Matthew present and he daren't think how bad it might become with him gone. George was quickly growing to look just like his father. Blonde hair, and blue eyes. Although, Robert did know that the eyes of his grandson would be his. He had learnt years ago that a baby boy's eyes were always the same as his maternal grandfather; colour and any sight issues included.* The same was not the case for girls. But nonetheless, George looked like Matthew and Robert knew that was affecting Mary's relationship with him. She wasn't immersed fully in motherhood and Robert knew that would have lasting effects if they weren't careful.

"Marriage is a partnership Mary. Your mother and I work together, not against each other. She had made the plan and I, noticing her tiredness, offered to carry it out. Besides, it allows me to spend precious time with my son and grandchildren." Mary shuffles uncomfortably, clearly she had seen through him and knew exactly where this was going.

"Do you not find it stifling? Spending so much time with children. They have their lives ahead of them and yet it feels as though we, as adults, have lost all that choice that lays before them. And then, with George I feel like in many ways I'm letting him down. He's going to have no father at some point in the near future but I can't imagine I will ever manage to be two parents for him." Robert says nothing, what can he say, he can hardly offer that much advice on the issue. "And the problem is I look at him and all I see is Matthew. And...and I know that's going to be really tricky when Matthew isn't here any more. I think my brain has been telling me that if I distance myself from George I might stop associating him with Matthew and then some of the pain at what is to come might go away."

Robert could see exactly how that worked, indeed it is exactly what he thought had been going on in her head.

"I think maybe you need to look at it backwards, Mary. Flip that it's head. If you do get to know George and help him develop into a chattering toddler you will find he is different from Matthew. As he grows he will do things that do not remind you of Matthew. He will become a man different from his dad. Just as you and Edith and Sybil are not just like your mother or I. If you close yourself off to George you will only ever see Matthew and not the person hiding deeper."

"Granny would say Mama has made you into a philosopher. She wouldn't like to think her well-bred English son cared so much for silly sentiment."

"Perhaps not, but I have discovered the virtues of being a parent four times over. If you never meet another Matthew, George could easily be your only child Mary. And I don't want you missing that experience and neither will Matthew."

"That's all very easy to say. But half the time I have no idea where to start. He's only a child and he can't tell me what he wants." Robert would laugh if he was talking to anyone but Mary, but he bites his tongue, Mary had always been rather forceful, she had very little time for people that wasted time and no doubt she saw a child who couldn't properly respond to her as time consuming, even if she had a feeling that she shouldn't feel that.

"You have to do what your gut tells you to do. That way you will find the things that make him laugh. You'll find things he doesn't like too, but that is part of it."

She looks as though she is about to say something when the doorbell chimes. Robert stands. Obviously Cora had ordered a parcel that the postman couldn't get through the letterbox.

As he is crossing the hall he looks at the shadow of the person waiting on the other side (through the glass). He frowns slightly when he sees a much larger form than the one that he knew to be the postman. What makes him chew the inside of his lip is the fact the figure is clearly wearing a police helmet.

In three more strides he has the door open. His heart plummets when he sees the blue stripes on the top shoulder, yes, it was a policeman.

"Good morning Sir. My name is Sergeant Willis. I am hoping that a Mrs Mary Crawley is here? I called at her home but nobody answered. Her neighbour thought she would be here."

"She is but can I ask why you are here?"

"I have some news for Mrs Crawley. If you could take me to her?" Robert takes a long deep breath. Inside he is hoping and praying (he would get down on his knees if he thought it would help) that this is not about Matthew. But the look on the Sergeant's face is not comforting, nor the blood on his jacket. If that wasn't enough, his next words truly clinch the deal, the children's laughter is suddenly an ache, happiness doesn't have a place in a bleeding wound. "She may want you to sit with her as I say what I have come to say. She is likely to need steadying."

"Perhaps you should wait here and I shall fetch her." Robert walks with his head down back towards the lounge. His heart, rather then speeding up as he thought, slows. It becomes a deep, resonance between his ribs.

He doesn't need to look at Mary's face as she steps out into the hall and sees the Sergeant. He doesn't watch as the gentleman tells her to sit on the chair in the hall. He closes his ears as the Sergeant sits opposite her and tells her what he has come to say. He doesn't need to hear it, or watch it, because he knows what has happened.

Matthew is dead. Road traffic accident.

A single tear falls squarely onto his shoe just as he hears her squeak. The squeak that is neither a scream, nor tears, but a mixture of both. It consumes her in a violent shudder not long later and Robert finds himself striding across the floor to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She shoves and pushes like she did as a child, trying to tear herself from the confines of his embrace.

"Get off! Don't touch me!" She throws her hands forcefully into his chest as she stands. He turns to find her standing with her arms wide in the centre of the hall, as if trying to keep everything as far from her as possible. Robert can see that her gaze is not with the present. It is miles away, possibly searching through her memories, trying to hold onto the facets of Matthew she doesn't want to lose. What he sees on the surface is her subconscious turmoil while her thoughts are lost. Her body shakes, and she looks altogether as though she is going to drop to the floor.

He can't imagine how it must feel, and he has even less chance to, when Cora appears at the top of the stairs and gracefully glides down them before walking to the Sergeant and calmly offering him some refreshment. just seeing her is like seeing his whole life. The Sergeant refuses the refreshment and they talk for a while longer before she lets him out. It's then that she walks to him and takes his hands, one of her fingers slipping beneath his shirt cuff and rubbing the skin.

"We need to stay strong for her." She whispers very softly, there is no way Mary can hear.

Robert can't help but think that is an easy thing for Cora to say but he hurts all over. He wasn't prepared for Matthew to leave them yet, he was still such a support at the office and a wonderful father to George. Cora doesn't have those working ties with him, he was just a son-in-law to her. Someone who loved Mary.

"I am not sure I know how." He admits it between his own tears and she just squeezes his hands tightly before moving in the direction of Mary.

Robert watches as Mary falls against her mother, something she had never done. She had always seen herself too big for her mother's comfort, even at the earliest age. But this time she grips Cora's shoulders without hesitation, her knuckles turning white at the pressure. Her eyes are red rimmed and dark; her cheek and neck pasty in comparison.

Robert hears Edith laughing with George and calling his name, speaking baby talk as she calls for him to take the train from Edward. Robert slumps against the hall wall. He had a grandson who was now without a father and his mother hadn't exactly been taking to being a mother very easily. What on earth was going to happen now?

She wishes she hadn't worn her heeled boots. She had forgotten how much noise they made on tiled floors. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if the rest of the corridor wasn't so silent. If the cries and bleeps of the hospital hadn't given way to complete silence as they enter the morgue.

There is no machinery screeching out the poundings of hearts because there are no hearts, no beating ones anyway.

Perhaps her heels jangling noisily with the white tiling wouldn't be so bad if her companion wasn't moving like a ghost.

Mary's movements are graceful and poised.

Fluid.

She seems to not be touching the ground. Her head looks straight forward, never diverted by movements in her periphery. Her black coat sits perfectly on her shoulders and her hand doesn't even shake where it holds her handbag. She had answered the questions at reception with a blank expression and no emotional undertone. Her grandmother had taught her well.

Yet Cora knew, beneath the fluid movement and the controlled grief, she was walking by a woman whose head was too full of unhappiness and anger to notice anything else around her.

Therefore, Cora's heels echo in the empty corridor. She says nothing because she can think of nothing to say to a woman who is about to see her husband's dead body. And Mary says nothing probably for the same reasons.

Cora wants to tell her that she is there. That she will help her as best she can, and support her. But she knows Mary will just shut her down; she won't want help.

Cora swallows her own saliva as it accumulates in her mouth, a gentleman in scrubs she recognises all too well, stepping out of a nearby room.

"Bertie." His mouth doesn't even twitch up in the way it often did when he wasn't sure what to say. He stares solemnly back at her.

"Mrs Crawley." Now was not the time to abolish him for not calling her Cora. He visibly gulps before turning to Mary. "And Mary. If I may call you so?" Mary only nods. Keeping her eyes trained somewhere on his forehead. "When Matthew came in on the ambulance this morning he was brought to my operating theatre, he had large wounds to his head. I need to warn you before you see the body that this can be very disturbing. There is no obligation for you to identify him Mary. Your mother would be fine for the paperwork. Your mother-in-law, Mrs Isobel Crawley has already stated she will not be visiting."

"I want to see him." Mary's voice is confident. It betrays no sentiment. No worry. Just like earlier. Her hands do not waver on her bag and her eyes do not drop.

"If you are sure. He has been cleaned up, obviously, but the head wounds are obvious even from a distance, and one of his arms was broken." Cora feels her stomach clench. She was unsure she could do this, let alone Mary.

"Mary," she pushes her hand onto Mary's elbow, "think about, just for a minute, what you want to remember."

"He was going to die of cancer. I would have seen that. Been by his side for that. I wasn't for this. I never had my last words, Mama. Don't you see? I must see him. However harsh he may look I must find the peace within myself. We talked about what would happen at the end. And he wanted me there. That has been taken from us but I won't let it mean I can't be the last person to see his face." She cracks some emotion this time. Her eyes glaze with water but her gaze does manage to fix on hers. Her voice does waver and there are definitely hints of tears but they don't fall.

Bertie looks concerned and Cora is well aware that if he were any other doctor he would have reminded Mary to honestly think about what she is going to see, but Bertie knew his soon-to-be sister-in-law would not be budged so he just turns down the corridor with a small nod to Cora.

Her heels clip again but rather then being a piercing sound in a harrowing silence she finds the sound comfortable this time. They remind her to breath in and out with each step.

The enter a completely whitewashed room, one nurse sat on a stool doing some kind of test. Cora notes nothing else because they stop suddenly inside the door, Mary coming to an immediate halt.

A slight shuffle to the side (Mary was slightly taller than her) shows her the reason for the sudden stop. There is a bed in the centre of the room. It is covered to the neck but the flicks of blonde hair that Cora spies leave no doubt in her mind. It is Matthew. She briefly thinks Mary might turn and flee the room, Bertie doesn't move any nearer while Mary stands motionless. It was a clear sign that this was all to be done in her own time.

She doesn't take long to steady whatever thoughts had swirled and she steps forward. Cora doesn't follow. She doesn't want to. Seeing the tufts of Matthew's hair is enough. She tries to keep her eyes trained higher, on Mary, but they can't stop dancing down as if willing Matthew to sit up and acknowledge his wife.

Her eyes cloud with water and her throat tightens. As Mary moves closer and closer to his face, their bodies come into the same frame of her vision.

Mary's finger drags along the length of the blue cover over his body. She slows more and more as she nears his face but it caresses each inch none-the-less, as if memorising the rough outline of his body. She unzips the cover when Bertie confirms that she can if she would like to.

Cora watches as she pulls the zipper down, her hand not trembling, while Cora feels her own lips quivering with emotion. Mary's fingers loiter on his neck this time smoothing what Cora sees to be a cut as she takes a very tentative step nearer. Her finger slips up his jaw and around his cheek before pushing loose hairs that hang over his face back nearer his scalp. It's then, following Mary's hands that Cora sees it.

Across, behind, and above one of his ears his hair is not the blond it is everywhere else, it's dark, from a distance it looks brown. But it's only that colour because it's coated in blood. Mary traces her finger along the fracture as Cora finally feels her path obstructed by the bed, she must have been walking quicker then she thought. It runs right to his ear, where the doctors hadn't even bothered to clean away the dried blood.

Mary asks something and Bertie starts explaining but Cora loses it all. She moves her eyes away from the blood to the other injuries that are obvious, his left arm is clearly broken, the elbow seemingly bent the wrong way and there looks to be some kind of burn on his neck, near the cut Mary had fingered.

Cora takes a steadying breath as Mary curls her hand in Matthew's and traces her finger over his wedding ring. She leans over and kisses it and Cora has to turn away. The tears falling onto her cheeks.

Bertie offers Mary a chair as Cora walks back towards the door. She can't do it. She'd told Robert they needed to be strong for Mary but she can't do it here. Not when Matthew was lying right before her so clearly dead. It was easier to pretend it was less of a deal than it really was when you couldn't imagine what it looked like.

The door swings shut behind her and her legs shake as she reaches for the wall on the opposite side of the corridor. Her lungs forcing her breathing while her head spins and her stomach tries to throw up her breakfast. She turns to rest her back against the wall and tilt her head to try and take away the nausea. The door she came out of swings open and she prepares to look up into the face of an annoyed Mary but she sees only Bertie, offering a glass of water.

She takes it with a nod. The cool liquid rolls down her throats and at least offers some assistance with the nausea and dizziness.

"I'm sorry Bertie."

"It's discomforting for most people. Not many handle it like Mary. Most go in and out, containing tears. She's a strong one. I hadn't been able to decide if his cancer would make this easier or worse. Whether she'd be more prepared or more angered that fate has taken him. I still don't know." Cora shrugs, philosophy was not something she could deal with at this moment.

"She's not as strong as she makes out."

"No, indeed. She's more like her father than her mother." Cora furrows her eyebrows. "Forgive me Mrs Crawley that was impertinent."

"No. Tell me what you mean."

"Your husband has the same appearance of strength as Mary. You might not see that, having a closer relationship with him. But they are weaker really. Weaker than yourself and Edith I mean. The two of you have an inner strength. You display emotion more obviously but you have a strength within, yours I think comes from what I have heard about your past." Cora nods slowly, Sophie had always told her that she had an inner strength. Dear Violet had even said a similar thing once.

They stand awkwardly for a moment, Cora staring at her glass of water and deciding if she should return to Mary. Bertie twiddling his thumbs.

"Mrs Crawley, while we have a moment there is something you ought to know. Mary will find out soon enough but I was concerned about giving her more to deal with than necessary. Matthew wasn't alone in his car this morning. Lavinia Swire was rushed into hospital as well."

"Oh my is she okay?" Cora had long forgotten that she had once thought the woman was Matthew's lover.

"She's in the operating theatre as we speak but it doesn't look good." Cora closes her eyes, she dreaded to think how her father would take that. He had already lost his wife, to lose his only child, god help him. "My reason for informing you is that a gift was found upon Matthew's person, it was an expensive jewellery firm's necklace. I assumed it was for Mary, but after opening it in the operating theatre, when it was clear he was dead, I found it was addressed to Lavinia.^ I thought someone in the family ought to know, I don't know why, it just seemed significant somehow." Cora isn't sure what order her thoughts take then, do they question Matthew's fidelity or do they reach out for Mary first? She isn't sure. So, maybe there had been more to that relationship than the simple friendship Mary had always claimed and she and Robert had been lead to believe. On closer thought though, Cora thought it more likely that Matthew was simply thanking Lavinia for her friendship to Mary and her help with his cancer. Matthew is, or rather was, a very good man and would never have wanted to hurt Mary. He had definitely loved her.

"He was a generous man and Lavinia was a good friend. It is true she had a partiality to him but I don't believe the gift would have been aimed at anything more than friendship on his side, Bertie. I thank you for your confidence though."

"I never thought anything else. I liked Matthew very much but Edith mentioned it to me at some point a while ago and then I saw that necklace this morning and I suppose in the frenzy that it all was, two and two made five." She nods slowly taking another long swirl of her drink. In her head there is still something about it all that doesn't make sense but Bertie is not the person to trouble with that.

What was Matthew doing out this morning? And where was he going that he was taking Lavinia and not Mary?

The dizziness returns again but she takes a step forward back towards the room. She wanted to go home and she can't imagine Mary will want to stay much longer. She stops dead before pushing it open.

Mary is sat on a chair by Matthew and her mouth is moving. She's talking to him as she strokes her hands over his chest, arm and fingers. Cora is overcome with those emotions again and steps back to lean against the wall. How on earth was her daughter going to cope without her beloved Matthew?

* This is actually true, all men have the same eyes as their maternal grandfather.

^The idea of the joint car crash killing both L and M was half taken from the show, I have been trying to stick to canon mostly in this story but also was influenced by a drama based in the second world war that I watched in the Autumn called Home Fires. In that Samantha Bond's character only finds out her husband has been having an affair (that is not where I am taking this M, L storyline I can assure you) when he dies in a car crash with his mistress. On his person is found some jewellery that was intended as a gift for the lady. When SB opens the box after he is dead she assumes it is for her until she reads the note and she then sets out on a path to discover the truth. She ends up taking in her husband's son by his mistress (she had never had any children) when Liverpool is fatally bombed.

I am sorry for this chapter, I know it is all very sad, but please do review.