Hi! So I apparently got my muse back with this one and I'm just rolling with it as much as I can. Here's chapter 3! Many thanks to everyone who has faved, followed and reviewed!

As usual, thanks to the beautiful Emma for all her patience. This is for my friend Hershey, hello hihi :)

Unbeta-ed forever, as usual, so all mistakes are mine. (Including, possibly Robert's name because I literally have 0 time to research)


Chapter Three

Bleeding till I can't breathe

Fate is a cruel bitch.

Robert tries to reign in the fury he feels inside as he presses the button on the intercom and asks for a nurse. His wife is looking back at him fearfully, and it breaks his heart, but he can't say anything, do anything, can't very well just drop the bomb once more that they are married. He did learn things from last night.

The nurse rushes in, asks what is wrong, and he is all too willing to ask the very same question back at the nurse, only, Cora has spoken, asking once more who they are and where she is, and what on earth is going on. The nurse seems to be taken by surprise, but still springs into action, trying to calm Cora down, answering her questions as best as she can, while having called for the doctor. Robert can only stand there and watch, his brain not catching up quite yet to the events unfolding in front of him, all he knows is that right now, she can't remember anything, the events of last night seem to have been erased from her memory.

God, is this is a nightmare? Because if this is, then he needs waking up so badly.

The door opens and the doctor whooshes in, looking addled and confused. Martha is hot on the doctor's heels, and she looks up to Robert in question, unaware of what is going on, but Robert doesn't have a clue either and he looks back at his mother in law in bewilderment and desperation, shrugging as it is the only thing that he can even do at the moment. The doctor speaks to his wife asking questions, but it all comes a slight buzzing sound, the moment becoming a blur as tears prickle his eyes and thoughts swarm in his head, both threatening to overflow.

It takes a while before Cora calms down, mostly due to Martha's comforting presence. She has been crying since the doctor's told her that she is in the hospital, having been under a coma for a few weeks after a car crash. He tells her of her condition, of how she lost her memories and suffering of amnesia. Cora looks terrified, and is only anchored by her mother's arms around her.

Cora then turns to his general direction, her gaze clearly questioning who she is, but he can't speak, can't tell her who he is exactly, out of fear of driving her away, and so he remains quiet, staring back at her in equal intensity, his feet rooted to the ground.

It is her mother who says who he is precisely, in the gentlest tone he's ever heard his mother in law use (it's surprising given how loud Martha could be), but it does nothing to appease the lost looking woman in bed, who is his wife, only she doesn't know that, can't seem to grasp the fact.

"His name is Robert Crawley," Martha says slowly, as if handling a grenade, and she might as well be, to be honest. "He is…well, he's your husband."

This brings fresh tears to her eyes, and it breaks Robert's heart and soul so bad to see her looking at him like she can't believe any of this, she looks so hurt, looks so lost that all he wants to do is haul her into his arms and kiss her pain away, but he doesn't do that, knowing that she isn't going to be very receptive of it.

Robert feels a sickening sense of déjà vu, and wishes for all that he is worth that he is still just asleep in their house, sprawled on the floor, and will awaken to a wicked hangover in a while.

Cora feels like a mess. Her emotions are swirling inside her, too many and too much of them, and she cannot possibly name them all, much less do anything about them at this point. She watches the doctor intently as he explains what's happened to her, it's a lot to take in, it's overwhelming, and she feels the tears running down her cheeks, her mother's arms around her the only thing that even comforts her at this point.

Her doctor assures her that other than her apparent condition, she is mostly fine, the wound in her head having healed nicely and all of her other injuries having been healed or in the process of being healed too. It's a relief, but she's not all that relieved at the moment.

From her peripheral vision she can see the man, the man who claims to be her husband, and it's strange, unsettling to know that this is the man she's promised to live the rest of her life with yet she doesn't remember him, doesn't remember the life she is supposed to have lived with him. Her stomach lurches at the thought, and she feels like throwing up, feels like throwing things.

The doctor excuses himself, asks the man—her supposed husband, she corrects herself—to come with him. She knows they are going to talk about her and her condition and it is a bit disconcerting that this man that she doesn't even know, doesn't remember knowing, is handling all of these things.

"Are you alright my darling?" her mother asks her as her arms tighten around her form.

There is very little to say to that, this curveball they have been just thrown making sure of that, and so Cora only shakes her head, because no, no she can't be okay.

"What the bloody hell is wrong?" Robert asks angrily, as he and the doctor steps out of Cora's room. A rational part of Robert knows that he has no right to be angry at the doctor at all, it isn't his fault, but frustration and desperation run high when faced with an event such as this and it's very hard to maintain rationality and reason. "Why does she seem to have forgotten what happened last night?"

The doctor sighs sadly, looks at Robert in practiced sympathy and understanding, clearly this is not his first rodeo, and then he shakes his head. "Your wife is suffering from amnesia," he says, and yes, they have established that, so Robert nods, waiting for the doctor to continue. "And I've never seen a case like hers before, certainly, there is only one man in history who has had the same thing happen to him, but it is rather clear that your wife is suffering from both retrograde and anterograde kinds of amnesia."

Robert looks up at the doctor, confused, he's never the one to try and understand medical things, always have let Cora explain these things to him, and it only adds to his frustration. "English, please, Doctor," he snaps at the man before him.

The doctor breathes in deeply. "It means that while your wife suffers from retrograde amnesia, that is, she has forgotten a portion of her memories, from what we see a good six years of her life, she is also suffering from anterograde amnesia, and that means that she is unable to make new ones."

How is this even possible? Did the fates really hate them so much? Did he and Cora piss off some god in another life?

What is left for them to do now?

Will she ever be okay?

Robert seems to have a billion questions running in his head, but none of them slip out of his mouth. He looks at the doctor hopelessly.

"A part of her brain, which is responsible for her storing her memories is malfunctioning at the moment damaged by the blow she's received in her head and it can't do its job and keep her memories," the doctor explains, but it does very little to enlighten Robert. He can feel the fear creeping in his heart and his whole being. "From what I see, she has twenty-four hours before she loses her memories again and she reverts back to not knowing the past six years and the day preceding. It's possible that she can both regain her past memories and make new ones after a bit of therapy. But for right now, the best you can do for her is help he through this, help her remember what she's lost, and help her remember the ones she will regain. It's going to be a long road to recovery, so you are all going to have to be patient," the doctor continues.

"Do we—how do we go about this?" Robert asks the doctor.

"As I said, therapy is her best option, and you'll have to tell her stories, tell her of the life she's lost, be patient with her, and never force her to remember. This might cause her brain to completely shut down and refuse to remember. Just gradually ease her in to the life she's lived," the doctor suggests.

Robert nods his head. "I understand doctor," Robert says, and he does, but he can't say he's alright with all of it. It stings like a bitch.

"Mr. Crawley, I have been a doctor for many years and I have seen many cases such as this," the doctor says, "I can't say I've seen many with this particular case, but…it all comes down to one thing: patience. Right now, she is vulnerable and lost and scared, and she wants to remember, but her body is recovering and she can't just yet. If she feels your frustration, she'll be frustrated too. You're going to have be patient with her."

Robert nods. That he can do. He can and will do anything for his wife.

"Yes, doctor, thank you," Robert says, nodding before shaking the doctor's hand and thanking him before he takes his leave.

(*)

Robert is thirty-two years old, not even in his forties, yet he feels like he is eighty, feels like the world has just dumped an excruciatingly heavy weight upon his shoulders.

He sits in the hospital cafeteria, head on his hands, trying to prevent his tears from flowing. His coffee sits in front of him on the table, cold and untouched—he thinks he needs something much, much stronger than caffeine.

He can't face her right now, can't face his wife. All of the hopes he had this morning had just been dashed out of him.

He hates this, hates this so much, hates knowing that the last thing she would want is to be anywhere near him when all he wants is to hold her.

He feels a palm landing on his shoulder, and he jumps, startled. He looks up and finds his mother in law looking at him with sympathetic eyes. She takes a seat across him, her hand catching his. She squeezes once, twice.

"How are you holding up?" she asks softly. She looks tired, looks as miserable, it's as hard for her as it is for him, but at least Cora does remember her.

"Barely," he admits. "I feel like I'm drowning. I don't know what to do." He looks at his mother in law and sees the hopelessness reflected in her eyes. They both hate seeing Cora like this. "How is she?"

"She's fallen asleep," Martha says, sighing. "Finally got her to calm down, though she's been adamant that I don't leave her side, the poor thing's so shaken."

Robert doesn't doubt that at all.

"She'll remember you Robert," Martha says, but Robert shakes his head, he cannot possibly know that. "She'll fall in love with you once again."

It does not seem possible now.

"She has two kinds of amnesia," Robert tells his mother in law with a shake of his head. "One where she can't remember the past six years, and another where she can't make new memories for God knows how long."

Martha gasps, her hand flying up to her mouth. "Is there anything we can do?" she asks. She looks frantic and scared, and Robert wants to comfort her, tell her that it's going to be okay, but he's not even sure he believes that himself.

Is there? Robert doesn't know.

"Be patient with her, that's what the doctor says," Robert answers, watching as Martha nods. Of course. "And therapy, the doctor she needs therapy."

"Of course," Martha says, nodding. "She needs us now more than ever."

Martha's words shoot daggers to Robert's heart and he feels like weeping, feels like laughing, feels like dying. "She needs you, I don't think she's going to be all okay with me," he says, and it honestly what he feels.

Martha slaps his wrist and looks at him sternly. "Listen to me Robert James Crawley," Martha orders, looking at him with a steely gaze. "I will ask you this question once and once only: Do you love my daughter, the woman you've taken as your wife?"

Robert looks back at Martha, offended that she's even had to ask. "Of course I do," he exclaims defensively. There is nothing he is more sure of in his life than his love for Cora. She is still and will always be the best thing that's ever happened to him. "I love her more than life. She's everything I have, Martha."

"Then I forbid you to give up on her. If you love her as much as you say you do, as much as I believe you do, then I am not letting you wallow in your own sorrows and give up on her," Martha tells him severely. Robert looks at her, surprised, but knowing she is right. "She loves you, Robert. She might not remember that and it might be a struggle getting her to, but she does. I have never seen two people more in love that you two seem to be. You've survived your mother and all her stupid interventions before, you are going to survive this too."

"How do you even know that?" Robert asks desperately.

"Because Robert, her mind might forget, but her heart remembers, I know it," Martha says, her eyes softening and so does her voice. "She fell in love with you before, she is going to again. When two people are made for each other, they always find their way to each other. You have to believe that." Martha pats Robert's hand and gives him a soft, encouraging smile.

Robert sighs, now he only needs to pave her way back to him, because he's already waiting for her on the other side.

He watches her a lot. She can feel his eyes on her on odd times, feels him looking at her. It's been five days since she'd been told she's awoken from her coma, and every day, her mother would tell her the same thing: She's in England, she's married to the man whose name is Robert, and she's suffering from amnesia, which is why she can't remember anything from the past six years and every day, she needs to be reminded of these things, because her brain can't store new memories.

At first, upon knowing this, she'd cried so hard, that she'd had to be sedated (that's what mother's said, anyway, she can't really remember and that had gone on for the first three days). Every morning, mother would give her a rundown of her condition, and she feels bile rise up her throat and panic run through her veins. Lately, she's been doing better, she'd panicked, but she hasn't hyperventilated, not yesterday and not today and she thinks that it's a positive sign.

She's a long way to recovery but she is on her way there.

Every day, for the past five days, the same man who her mother claims to be her husband, Robert, would visit her and sit with her. He would ask her about her day, and she'd answer the same: good, she'd say, and he'd nod, and say he's pleased that it is. She feels hesitant to talk to him, but she does feel his eyes on her, and she does think (today she does, she doesn't quite know if she had yesterday or the day before that) that he has a beautiful smile. She can see the appeal, understand on some level—on a very physical level—why she'd married this man.

The doctor comes in her room with a smile, asks her how she is, and checks her vitals. She remains silent, and so does her husband and her mother, and they await what the doctor has to say. These days, it feels like silence is their constant companion, not that she can verify that.

"Well, Mrs. Crawley," the doctor begins, smiling at her warmly, and it still feels odd to be called that, not when she doesn't remember being that, "Your vitals seem fine, you're all healed from your physical injuries, so you are free to go by tomorrow."

Cora smiles weakly at the doctor as her mother beams at her, her husband looks on at her with a warm smile as well. She feels panic rising, feels like she isn't sure what to do. Once she's out of the hospital, what then?

The doctor says he'll work on her release papers before taking his exit, her mother following him out for some more questions. That leaves her and her husband, and she fiddles with her thumb, unsure of what to say.

"Are you excited?" he asks her kindly. He reaches out to touch her but he pulls back at the last second, placing his hand on his lap and she's not sure if she's relieved or if she's disappointed.

She shrugs, sighing. "I don't know," she admits. "On the one hand I'm ready to leave this room, but on the other…" she trails off, not knowing how to put to words her thoughts.

"On the other?" he questions, prodding her gently, waiting her out.

"On the other, I'm not sure how to be…" she pauses, biting her lip and then shaking her head. "I'm not sure how to be Cora Crawley when I get out of here."

Robert shakes his head and she sees him clench his hand into fists as if trying so hard not to touch her. Maybe he is. "You don't have to be you know," he says softly, and she looks at him, confused. "You don't have to be anyone else but yourself. Just be Cora, the Cora you know. I'm certain that she's just as lovely."

He looks at her intensely, his gaze boring holes into her, and she looks up at him in the same magnitude even as she feels herself melting at his words. She feels for him, feels so much, this can't be easy for him…but she can't pretend to be something she doesn't know how to be…can't really do any pretending in her condition.

"I won't love you any less," he whispers, but she hears it, and it paralyzes her, sends her heart racing while breaking it simultaneously.

How she wishes she knows how to love him the way she used to, the way he obviously does her.

Robert feels like a colossal idiot as the words slip his mouth long before he can give it any thought and his wife stares at him as though he's a kicked puppy (worry not, he feels like one). He should not have said that.

"I'm sorry," he stumbles over an apology as he shakes his head and looks away from her. She isn't alright enough for this.

God, he is almost thankful she won't remember this tomorrow.

"Don't be," she tells him, reaching out to touch his hand.

It feels as though there is an electricity running through them, and it jolts him, he feels like it's been too long since she's touched him like this, touched him at all. It had been an awkward few days between them.

"Don't be sorry for loving…her," she says, and it destroys him to know that she thinks that the Cora she knows now and the Cora he knows are different entities when to him…it's always going to be Cora, just Cora. It doesn't matter which Cora, he'll love her anyway.

He doesn't know what to say to that, and he doesn't have to say anything he finds, as the door opens and Martha walks in, eyeing them curiously, her eyes falling over to their joined hands, and Cora blushes, pulling her hand away as if burned. Well, it's been good while it lasted.

"I've spoken to the doctor," Martha says as she takes the seat beside Robert, pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room. "You're to be discharged tomorrow but he wants you back in a week or so to check on your progress, also to start your therapy."

Cora nods. "Alright," she says. "Where are you staying?"

Martha looks at her questioningly. "The Ritz, why?" she asks.

"Well, I imagine that's where I'm supposed to stay as well?" Cora asks, seemingly confused to why there is even a discussion to this.

"No, wait—," Martha begins, but Robert cuts her off.

"I think it would be more comfortable if you stayed in our house Cora," Robert says, and he hates that he sound like he's almost pleading, but that he does.

"I wouldn't want to impose," Cora protests, shaking her head.

"It's your home too," Robert explains, "It can never be an imposition."

Cora opens her mouth, looking just about ready to protest, when Martha intervenes. "It's better if you ease into your old life, be surrounded by the things you've lost memory of," Martha explains. "I'll even stay there if it makes you feel any better." She shoots Robert an apologetic look, one that Robert shakes off because he'd be willing to just about anything to make Cora comfortable.

Cora visibly relaxes, though looks a bit apprehensive still. "As long as it's not an imposition," she says.

Robert nods, holds out his right hand. "I promise," he says, smiling (pleased at the prospect that she'll be there with him, in the same house, even if she doesn't still quite remember).

Cora nods and smiles back.

(*)

The next day starts bright and early and Robert finds himself excited for today. He is going to be bringing his wife home, something he's been so excited about long before she'd even woken up from coma. He thinks that this would do well for him, and for her—to be back to a place where they had both built a life together. It might help her recover her missing memories.

He drives to the hospital with a smile, unable to hide his excitement and happiness. Cora greets her sullenly when he arrives, and it's not a shock, it takes a few hours for her to get used to him. She isn't exactly thrilled upon finding out the things she knows now so early in the morning, but she adjusts, and it's almost like a muscle memory for her to ease up around him; like her mind doesn't remember but the rest of her does.

"Good morning, Cora," he says as he picks her bag up off the floor. She looks at him oddly and mutters a morning, before he turns to Martha and greets her the same, kissing her on the cheek.

"She hasn't had her morning cup," Martha divulges with a laugh and Robert nods, chuckling, because he does know his wife all too well.

"Let's get her some on the way," Robert says. He turns to his wife and asks, "Would you be opposed to getting some real breakfast on the way home, love?"

Cora's surprise is clear on her face but she nods, tells him that it's okay with her, before she sticks to her mother's side and clings to her. Robert tries not to take it to heart. Cora's really just still adjusting to the idea that she has a husband she doesn't know and that she's been told this morning after morning, daily, everyday, and she just can't remember.

Martha has already signed the discharge papers, so Robert ushers both Martha and Cora to his car. His heart breaks a little when Cora opts to sit on the back, letting her mother have the front seat, but he says nothing, lets her have whatever she is comfortable with.

"Where are we going?" Martha asks when he turns right instead of left, where they actually reside.

"Just a quaint bed and breakfast that serves the best coffee," Robert says with a smile. "You're going to love it there."

Both Martha and Cora nod, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence.

He slows his car to a stop when the little bed and breakfast comes to view. It's a quaint little place, that is owned and run by a married couple. It is simple structure, the breakfast or diner being out in the front, and the inn at the back. The white picket fence adds a very American touch.

They walk into the breakfast and Robert leads them to the back corner where they all take their seats, Cora seated beside her mother with Robert sitting across her. He helps them choose their breakfast, instinctively ordering for Cora, knowing exactly what she likes.

"This is beautiful," Cora says when they've placed their order. He watches her look around, taking the small place in with wonder. "How did you find it?"

He looks at her with a smile. "It's actually you, sweetheart, who found it," he tells her. "You dragged me here and it became our Sunday morning ritual."

Cora blushes and smiles despite herself. They have had a great life, she and him, and he can't wait to get it back, but wait he must and so he does. He smiles back at her.

Their morning goes on smoothly after that.

(*)

The day passes by in a blur, between settling Cora into her old life and getting Martha settled in as well, the day passed by rather quickly. Before he knows it, they are eating their dinner, courtesy of the home chef, of course, and then moving to the living room to pass time.

Robert, Cora and Martha all settle in the living room and played a movie, watching it silently, and letting their tired bodies calm down after a day of activities. It isn't until past ten that Martha bids her daughter and son in law goodnight, saying that she doesn't feel as young as she used to, though she doesn't look it. This earns her a chuckle from her daughter and a smile from Robert. Before Martha goes up however, she pulls Robert aside.

"She's warming up to you," Martha tells him as she holds him comfortingly. "That's good."

Robert nods. "She won't remember it tomorrow," he says defeated as the reality looms over him and his thoughts.

"Don't be too negative," Martha chastises before kissing him on the cheek and bidding him goodnight.

When Martha's disappeared to her room, Cora also stands up and excuses herself.

"It's been a long day," Cora tells him, standing up to stretch and yawn. "I'm going to turn myself in."

Robert nods and follows her up to the bedroom. Already in her nightclothes, she settles in bed and he feels her eyes on him as he moves around the room to gather his clothes. He is itching to get to bed and hold her again. He hurries along and makes it out of the bathroom in record time. He doesn't notice Cora looking at him as he pulls the covers back until she's clearing her throat.

"What are you doing?" she asks, looking at him as though he's being unreasonable.

"Getting to bed," he answers with a shrug.

"You can't sleep here," she tells him in a definite voice and it has him looking at her in question and surprise (and hurt too, he knows, as he feels his heart clench and unclench in his chest).

"This is my bedroom too?" he asks like he's daft.

"Show me the guest bedroom then," she says, climbing out of bed and he notices how instinctively, she chooses her side even if she doesn't remember. Not that it matters right now.

"Why would you want that?" he asks, confused. Wouldn't she be more comfortable in her own bed?

She looks at him as if he's daft or lost his marbles completely and in a way he does feel like it. "Because I'm not sleeping here with you," she explains in a flat voice. "We might be married but I don't know you."

Her words, so carelessly thrown his way, tear his heart apart in a way that she cannot know, in a way that she does not know. He hangs his head in shame, because he should have known and he shakes his head. He takes his pillow from the bed and looks at her even when his heart aches, breaks.

"It's okay," he says softly, the hurt seeping through his voice, and he averts his eyes from her, the pain is too much. "You'll be more comfortable here. Goodnight," he bids and then he's out the door, leaving her inside and closing it with a dull thud.

He makes his way to the guest bedroom and settles himself in, trying to make himself comfortable knowing he can't, not when his heart is breaking, bleeding, the pain suffocating him until he can no longer breathe.


A/N: *runs and hides* Please no one throw things at me.