People, what can I say? I hate the fact that I'm turning out to be one of those people who don't manage to update their stories regularly. I do have some case of writer's block. I know where I want to go and how to go there but writing it down is a different matter altogether.

I'm sorry, I really am, for not updating sooner. Thanks to the guest reviewer who reminded me to continue working on this story. Thanks for all the reviews! They mean a lot!

Without further ado: Have a nice read!

Disclaimer: I've become aware of the fact, that I'd totally be the worst professional writer ever. Therefore, Downton Abbey isn't mine (also because I know for a fact that I'm not Julian Fellowes) and neither are the characters.

The trek to the hospital was a blur. I remember being terrified as soon as I realized we were headed in the direction of the clinic rather than the Doctor's cottage. I'd seen Richard ill before. I'd seen him having a cold, having hurt an ankle, I had even witnessed him having a rather severe case of the flu. But in all those instances, he had been at home.

„No need to go to the hospital. I am a doctor, remember? I will be able to take care of myself without having to sleep in a strange bed.", he would say in those instances. Despite saying that he would take care of himself, he never did and I always ended up visiting him as often as my schedule and propriety allowed to make sure that he took his medicine and, above all things, that he rested. He was so very forgetful when it came to his own health. It even bordered on neglectful and I sometimes found myself thinking that he was a hypocrite for scolding his patients when they did not do everything in their power to get better, while he, himself, couldn't be bothered with tasks as easy as taking a spoonful of medicine twice a day. It took me some years to become aware of the fact that he simply loved his occupation too much. While being concerned about other people's welfare, he simply forgot to consider himself as well. „If you don't take care of yourself, you're not helping anyone. What help is a dead doctor?", I had once said. He had looked at me with a stunned expression on his face. I think, this had been the first time he had realized, that in order to help others and in order to be able to put others first, he had to at least keep himself functioning. He tried to do so afterwards and I never had to scold him again. At least not as much as before.

This time, though, we went to the hospital and this alone scared me more than anything had in the recent past. The hospital was never a good sign and even though I loved medicine and found it vastly interesting, it would never cease to terrify me whenever I had to visit it for a loved one.

A loved one?

Yes. I loved him. No. I love him. Romantic feelings put aside, in this moment I only cared for my very best friend and I didn't want him to be so sick that he would warrant a stay in the clinic. I didn't want him to suffer.

„How long has he been here?" My voice sounded more accusing than I wanted it to, but I couldn't help it. The other option would have been for my voice to sound small and quivering and while I had known Elsie Carson for quite some time now, I still didn't consider her close enough an acquaintance to appear weak in front of her. As long as I could help it, I would appear strong and professional.

„We brought him here on Thursday." she answered hurriedly.

„Thursday?!" I shrieked. „Why am I only being informed of this now?" I saw Mrs Carson flinch next to me before she collected herself and turned in my direction to level a cool and calculating gaze at me.

„I didn't think it was any of your concern, to be quite honest. My Lady." The ‚My Lady' came as if it was an afterthought. As though she had forgotten that she was addressing a lady. She had spoken out of turn and she knew it. A light glinted in her eyes and I identified it as protectiveness.

„Why, it is my concern!" I answered with finality. Despite of that, while she turned away from me, I heard her mutter „Is it?" in a way that showed that she was not even trying to hide how she felt about me in this instance.

I'm sure she hadn't meant it to be offending. At least not as offending as I felt it was.

„Yes, Mrs. Carson. Yes it is my concern. It is my concern whether my best friend is sick and in the hospital no less." She simply scoffed. I wondered if she would later regret having behaved like that in front of a lady. I knew, Mrs. Carson was not nearly as concerned with social standing and propriety as her husband. Nevertheless, she had been working in service for most of her life. She would most likely realize the inappropriateness of it all later. But is it really that inappropriate? You've never been 'a lady' before. Why is it important that you are one now? For a second the voice in my head stunned me into immobility. Why was it important all of a sudden? Had I not despised the family in the 'big house' for their ways, for their unwavering belief in their own superiority? Had I not worked hard to conduct myself in a different way, to show to the village that I was not one of them?

You aren't, the voice said. You aren't one of them. You're Isobel Crawley, the widow of a doctor. I hadn't thought of myself as Isobel Crawley in quite some time and I had never noticed, how much I missed being her. I had loved being a doctor's wife. I had loved being part of the middle class and, consequently, I had enjoyed looking down on the people who stood above me in status. What had changed? Why had I changed? Because you married a lord. In this moment - and not for the first time - I allowed myself to question my recent decisions and to regret them.

„The question remains: What has happened?" I asked in a less icy tone than I had used previously. It was not her fault that I had not been told before. And she was right. It was none of my concern.

„We found him sick on Tuesday. I hadn't seen him since Sunday and on Tuesday, Mrs. Mason came to me to inform me that she had found Doctor Clarkson to be quite ill. I went to him and indeed he was developing what I assumed to be a severe cold. I decided that we would try to care for him at his home first. I know how opposed he is to being tended to in the hospital. Wednesday came and he was improving. But then on Thursday, he developed a fever. I tried to bring it down with the help of Mrs. Mason and my husband, but it only got worse. We decided to get him to the hospital and that's where he's been since." She never once looked at me while telling me this and I could feel that she had decided not to tell me certain aspects of the story.

„And why have you come to summon me now? If he's been in the hospital for two days already and you thought - and, admittedly, rightly so - that it was none of my concern? Why get me now?" To admit that she had been right in assuming that it was none of my concern was a peace offering on my part. I knew she had decided to take it, when she finally turned her gaze towards me again. Her eyes had softened in comparison to the icy look I had been bestowed on before and they were suspiciously glassy.

„He - He's been asking for you. And it broke my heart to tell him, that you're not there. I had to try to get you to see him again. I had to. He's been asking and he's so sick. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself, if I had not at least tried to abide by his last -" She didn't finish her sentence and the tears that had been lurking in her eyes finally spilled over.

I didn't need her to finish it, anyway. I knew what she wanted to say: His last wish. Seeing me was his last wish.

Shall I write a nice little "TBC" here? Yeah. Let's do it! TBC...

Please leave me a review, it means the world and makes me sit down and write the rest of the story.

And yes, there's a "rest of the story" and no, it does not end within the next chapters. It is, in fact, turning out to be a rather long story. But you'll see, people, you'll see...