May's prompt: sick fic


Her ears thundered with the anxious beats of her heart as she sat motionless, eyes fixated on some indeterminable point. The chair she had wearily collapsed upon was beginning to dig into her, pain radiating from where her hips and lower back pressed against the wood. But she didn't move, didn't adjust so that she was more comfortable. Doing so would snap her back to the present, would make the evening's events real. Mortality was staring her in the face, threatening all she held dear. But perhaps if she didn't move, didn't acknowledge its presence, it would pass by without touching her.

Sat on either side of her were her daughters. They too seemed to have the same idea, neither moving nor speaking, just sitting in silence. Not a word had been spoken between them since they left the house, since they had last seen him being loaded into the ambulance covered in his own blood. She mentally shook herself, refusing to think of what had happened. She needed to remain strong for her daughters, for him…for herself.

Beside her, Edith let out a heavy sigh, the sound like a canon in the still room. It startled her, jarred her back into herself. She looked up, her eyes immediately falling onto the wall clock across from her. Three and a half hours. It had been three and a half hours since she had last seen her husband, her hand clutched in his as she walked alongside the stretcher to the ambulance, comforting assurances she couldn't remember spilling from her trembling lips. But one thing she could remember was that she hadn't told him she loved him. In probably the most important moment of their married life, she hadn't told him she loved him. After so much death and so many reminders of the fragility of life, it shouldn't have shocked her so, but it had. She never thought about the day where one of them would have to go first, never allowed herself to entertain the idea that she would be the one left behind. But how quickly had the illusion been shattered. In a matter of a few seconds, her whole life had altered and now she had to wait to see how permanent the change would be.

Muffled footsteps clicked against the lacquered wood floor. All three women whipped their heads in the direction of the footfalls and watched as Dr. Clarkson made his way down the corridor towards them, still dressed for the emergency operation.

She shakily eased onto her feet, her heart thumping erratically in her chest, breaths coming in shallow gasps. Edith and Mary rose to their feet as well, both instinctively gripping their mother's hands in their own. She could feel the way they both trembled beside her and she tried to give them what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

Closer and closer, he inched towards them, his speed maddeningly slow. Didn't he know that he held the verdict in his hands? That she couldn't breathe, couldn't live until she knew her husband would? When he was finally near enough, he looked up and her breath lodged itself in her throat. His shoulders were weighted with fatigue, his face drawn and taut. He looked as though he had aged several years in only a few hours.

"How is he?" she blurted before he even had a chance to say anything.

"We had to perform a gastrectomy," he answered, his voice heavy and weary. "His ulcer was much too large to patch which left us with no other alternative but to remove the damaged part of his stomach."

"But will he…" She couldn't finish the question let alone the thought.

"Live?" He took in a deep breath and looked at her with kind but serious eyes. "If he responds well to treatments, he will live."

She exhaled in relief, the tension that had been holding her up fleeing her body, and she lowered herself back onto the uncomfortable chair. He would live. Her husband would live. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to allow them to course down her cheeks.

"But you must understand it is not a guarantee," Clarkson continued. "The damage was extensive and he is not out of the woods yet."

"What are his chances?" asked Mary.

"As of right now, I would say sixty-forty," answered Clarkson. "We'll know more in the morning when we can better assess him."

"When can we see him?" Edith queried.

"He's still under the effects of the anesthetic and I don't expect him to wake until late morning." Clarkson sighed. "I would go home and get some rest and come back in the morning when he will more likely be awake."

"No, I'm going to stay," Cora murmured, raising her eyes.

"But Mama, he isn't awake and there isn't anything we can do here," Edith argued gently. "He is going to need us tomorrow."

Cora shook her head. "I need—"

"Mama, you are going to need your rest," Mary interjected.

"Milady—" Clarkson began.

But Cora had heard enough and was not swayed. She rose to her feet and leveled her gaze at them. "No," she stated determinedly. "I'll stay here in the waiting room if I have to, but I'm not going to leave without him."

Clarkson seemed to accept her decision before her daughters. "I'll let the nurses know you are staying," he said, slowly nodding his head, "and have something made up for you. I'll be back in a moment."

"I'm going to telephone the house," Mary said suddenly. She kept her head lowered, but Cora caught sight of a tell tale stain of red in her eyes. "Someone should let them know what happened."

"Mary," Cora called after her. "Don't forget to call your grandmother with the news."

"Of course," she responded, keeping her eyes downcast and hurrying from the room.

"Mama," Edith began softly, "you are going to need your rest. Are you sure you don't want to go home for a few hours?"

"No, I'll rest better here," she answered. "But you and Mary should go and get some rest. We'll no doubt have a long day tomorrow."

Mary rejoined them several minutes later, her composure restored. "Would you like us to wait with you until Dr. Clarkson returns?"

Cora shook her head. "You go on and get started home. I'll be alright here by myself."

"If you're sure," Mary mumbled unconvinced.

Edith stepped closer to her and wrapped her arms around Cora. "Goodnight, Mama," she murmured.

"Goodnight, Poppet," Cora whispered, managing a small smile.

Moving away, Edith started towards the door, Mary trailing silently behind her. But she only made it a few steps before she slowed to a halt and looked back at Cora. Suddenly, she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around Cora, hugging her tightly. The embrace ended as soon as it began.

"Goodnight, Mama," she whispered before hurrying after Edith.

"Goodnight, Mary," Cora softly called after her.


'My mother-in-law has a certain myopia when it comes to anyone else's point of view,' Cora explained to Mr. Chamberlain.

'On the contrary!' exclaimed Violet. 'I have a clarity of vision that allows me to resist a housemaid's trap of sentimentality.'

'You're enthusiasm is getting the better of your manners,' remarked Isobel.

'Can't we stop this beastly row?' Robert grimaced, his face pale.

'How I wish we could,' Cora said pointedly at Violet.

'Because I— I—' Robert got to his feet, hand clutching his abdomen, a pained groan rolling in his throat. 'I'm so sorry, I—'

Cora looked at him curiously and opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong. But she never got the chance…

"Milady?"

Lowering her hand from where it had been massaging the bridge of her nose, Cora opened her eyes and looked up, surprised to see that it was not the nurse coming to fetch her. Quickly, she wiped the corners of her eyes and stood, making her way towards the unexpected visitors.

"Baxter, Molesley," she murmured in greeting.

"Milady, I thought you might like to change since you're going to spend the night," Baxter explained softly.

"That was very kind," Cora answered, her voice barely audible, "thank you."

"How is his lordship?" Molesley asked gently.

Cora turned her head and looked at him, finally registering his presence with Baxter. She opened her mouth to respond, but found a lump lodged in her throat.

Robert lurched back, seized with obvious pain, before he suddenly pitched forward, retching blood across the table and spattering her. She watched, mouth agape in horror, as he collapsed to the floor, crimson still pouring from his lips.

'Thomas on his left side.'

'Give me napkins!'

Cora pushed away from the table and rushed to the other side of the room, dodging various members of her family. Their faces and voices a blur, her only thought was getting to Robert before it was too late.

'I'll call an ambulance.'

'Keep him warm. Take my coat.'

Squeezing past Thomas and Isobel, she knelt on the floor, her arms outstretched as she reached for him. He continued to writhe and vomit blood as she wrapped him in her arms, cradling his head in her lap.

'What is it?'

'His ulcer has burst.'

Clearing her throat, she swallowed and took in a sharp breath. "Dr. Clarkson is hopeful," she answered, her throat tight. "He said his lordship is still under the anesthetic and probably won't wake until morning."

"We were all very relieved to hear he had made it through the operation," said Molesley.

Cora nodded her head, but looked away. Her hold on her composure was slipping. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Shall I help you change, milady?" Baxter asked.

"Mm," Cora mumbled. She pressed her lips tightly together, a sob trying to bubble its way to the surface.

She stepped away and walked towards the powder room that was just down the hall. She didn't look back to see if Baxter followed, but she could hear the soft clicks of her heels behind her.

The chamber was small and dimly lit with barely enough room for the two of them, but Cora hardly noticed. She stood in the center of the floor, her gaze immediately falling on her reflection in the mirror. Despite her attempts to not remember, to not focus on those terrifying moments, one look in the glass, one glimpse of his dried blood coating her arms, clothing, and face, and she was forced back into the dining room, back to holding him in her arms as he retched blood.

'I'm here, darling,' she murmured. Red liquid continued to pour from his lips, the wave of crimson spilling onto her as she desperately tried to catch the flow. 'Don't worry, I'm here.'

Pulling his head back, he lifted his face toward her, his eyes searching for hers. 'If this is it, just know I have loved you very, very much,' he managed to rasp as his body continued to shudder.

'This isn't it, darling,' she answered, her voice wavering, 'w-we won't let this be it.'

He had thought of her. It had been what he thought were his last moments on earth and he had thought of her. Even as he convulsed and spasmed, the threat of death looming over him, he had sought to reassure her of his love. He wanted her to remember how he loved her and she hadn't done the same for him. She had very nearly let him leave her without telling him one last time that she loved him too.

"Milady?" Baxter murmured, but Cora didn't hear her.

Tears burned her eyes as her throat tightened. Her body began to tremble as she forced gulps of air into her lungs. But it didn't matter how many deep breaths she took, the feeling of suffocation wouldn't leave her. A sob tried to work its way out, but in an effort to keep it in, she bit down on her lip— hard. He was going to be alright, she reminded herself. There was no need to cry now.

"Milady, are you alright?" Baxter asked, her hands twitching at her sides as though she wanted to reach out and comfort her. "Perhaps you would feel better if you sat down."

Cora clamped her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to dispel the images. "No, I'm al—"

But the scenes wouldn't leave her and her constricted lungs heaved as an anguished sob finally clawed its way out of her throat. She wound her arms tightly around herself as she tried to stop her shaking body, wretched cries spilling past her lips.

'Just know I have loved you very, very much.'

She became aware of, rather than felt, Baxter help her to the bench and wrap her arms around her. She pulled Cora against her chest like a mother comforting her child. In the back of her mind, Cora knew she should try and stem her cries, should get control over her emotions. Surely she was embarrassing not only herself, but her poor maid as well. But she couldn't stop herself. Her tears continued to stream down her cheeks, soaking the shoulder of Baxter's dress, as her body continued to rack with sobs.

"Shhh," Baxter soothed, her hand running up and down Cora's back in comforting passes. "It's alright, milady."

Her tears finally slowing, Cora took in a shuddering breath and sat up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She kept her gaze fixated on her lap, too ashamed to look at her maid after such a display. It had been a relief to let her emotions out, but now remorse settled in her abdomen.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, brokenly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Reaching into the bag at her feet, Baxter retrieved a handkerchief and pressed the soft square of fabric into Cora's hand. "You haven't embarrassed me, milady," she murmured, her voice gentle and kind. "You've been through a terrible ordeal and there is no shame in crying about it."

Cora nodded, but her eyes remained on the handkerchief in her hands. "Thank you."

They sat in silence for several more minutes as Cora regained her composure. Occasionally, she would bring the square of cotton to her face and dab away the few tears that continued to leak form her eyes. When she was certain that she wouldn't break down again, Cora looked over at Baxter and smiled softly.

"Will you help me change?" she asked.

Baxter nodded and got to her feet. "Of course, milady," she smiled.


Cora silently followed the nurse down the corridor to the private room that had been given to Robert, her heart once again pounding in her chest. Her earlier venting of emotions had helped rid her of the tension that had held her hostage. But now that she was about to see Robert, see just what his ulcer had done to him, the vice began to tighten around her muscles once again.

Reaching the end of the hall, the nurse twisted the knob and opened the second to last door, stepping to the side for Cora to proceed her into the room. With a steadying breath, Cora straightened her shoulders and entered the chamber.

The room was sparsely outfitted with a chair, cot, and small table where a dim lamp had been left lit. A second cot had been placed off to the side, presumably for her to sleep on, but the idea hardly registered. On the narrow bed in the center of the room, Robert laid still as a corpse with his eyes closed and his right hand resting on his abdomen. His face was pale, the skin waxy, and dark circles ringed his eyes. A fresh wave of tears sprung to Cora's eyes and she forced herself to take in a breath. He looked dreadful and she was reminded of how ill he still was. When Dr. Clarkson said he had survived the surgery, it had been difficult to believe him when he said Robert still might not live. But looking at him in his current state made the reality hit her full force. There was still a chance she could lose him.

"We've made up a cot for you, milady," the nurse whispered.

Cora nodded, unable to take her eyes off of Robert.

"He will probably be out until morning," she continued, "but if you need anything at all, there is a nurse permanently stationed at the desk down the hall."

Forcing her gaze away from Robert, Cora looked at the nurse and smiled softly. "Thank you," she murmured, "for everything."

"Goodnight, milady," the nurse stated and after a brief nod, she was gone.

Shakily, Cora crossed the floor to the chair that had been placed by Robert's right side. She sat on the very edge of the wooden seat, attempting to get as close to him as she possibly could. Her eyes remained fixed on him, as though through the sheer force of her will he would rouse. It was a ridiculous notion, but she still couldn't help but be disappointed when he didn't wake.

Hesitantly, she stretched her arm forward and brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. Her caress was faint, ghostlike. It was as though she was afraid even the merest of touches would cause him to disappear. With extreme care, she clasped his right hand in hers, lacing her fingers with his. The tips of his digits were startlingly cold, but the palm of his hand was as warm as it normally was. Gently, she brought his hand to her lips and pressed a series of soft kisses to the back of his fingers, before resting her cheek against their clasped hands. She watched, transfixed, at the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his soft breaths filling the otherwise silent room.

"I love you too," she whispered, her clutch on his hand tightening ever so slightly, "so very, very much."


It was the faint feeling of fingers stroking her hair that slowly brought her to awareness. She breathed a content sigh, her lips stretching into a smile. She so loved waking to the feeling of Robert's hands gently— Robert!

Snapping her eyes open, she bolted upright, a quiet gasp escaping her throat at the pain in her side from sleeping half on the chair and half on the bed. But she hardly paid it any mind. Her gaze immediately searched for Robert, hoping against hope she hadn't imagined the sensation. Breath lodged in her throat as she watched his brow furrow and the corners of his mouth turn down. It was the first time he had moved since coming out of surgery.

"Robert," she whispered tentatively. She gripped his hand and squeezed encouragingly, nearly crying out when she felt his hand tighten around hers in response. Tears pricked her eyes, but she quickly blinked them back. She didn't want the first thing he saw to be her watery eyes.

Adjusting against the bedding, he hissed in pain when he jostled his left side, his hand automatically moving to clutch at the ache.

"Shhh," Cora soothed. "Darling, don't move too much. You'll only pull your stitches."

With a groan and an obvious amount of effort, Robert slowly turned his head towards her, his eyes cracking open ever so slightly. "Cora?" he mouthed. He didn't utter a sound, his throat drier than a desert no doubt, but Cora heard him all the same, knowing just how he caressed each syllable. Prying his eyes the rest of the way open, he stared at her, his gaze studying. "You're here?"

"Oh darling," she sighed, her voice something between a sob and a laugh. "I'm here. I'm right here."

"How long have I been out?" he rasped.

"Several hours. It's a little after four in the morning," Cora answered, giving the clock by the lamp a quick glance before returning her gaze to Robert.

He gave an imperceptible nod, but otherwise didn't respond, his eyes still focused on her.

"I should alert the nurses you're awake," she murmured, without making an effort to move. "Dr. Clarkson will be pleased. He didn't expect you to wake until much later this morning."

"Don't yet," Robert croaked. "I don't want to be apart from you."

'I have loved you very, very much.'

Hot liquid filled her eyes as she squeezed his hand. Rapidly batting her eyes, she swallowed and lowered her gaze to the hospital bedding.

"You scared me to death, Robert Crawley," she whispered. "If you wanted out of the dinner you could have just said so."

Despite trying to keep her tone light and teasing, the truth of just how terrified she had been painted her voice. It was when she felt him run his finger under her eye that she realized a few of her tears had begun to escape down her cheeks. Raising her free hand, she quickly swiped her face to remove all traces of her emotions.

"I'm sorry," she remarked with a humorless laugh. Meeting his gaze, she forced a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"My side aches and I feel like I've been hit by a train and…" He sighed heavily, his eyelids beginning to droop. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm having a difficult time staying awake."

"Then go back to sleep," Cora murmured, stroking her fingers across the inside of his wrist in a soothing caress. "I'll still be here when you wake up."

"But don't you need to rest?"

"I will once you fall back to sleep," she answered. "They kindly made up a cot for me."

His moved his eyes so that he was looking just past her. "It's awfully far away," he commented, a slight pout on his lips. "You should sleep here with me."

She shook her head in disbelief, a grin twisting at the corners of her mouth. With one last squeeze of her hand, she stood and picked up her chair, moving it to the other side of the room. She was aware of his gaze on her as she carefully scooted the cot across the floor, the metal frame squeaking ever so slightly. She placed it so it was nearer to Robert, but there was still enough room to walk between them.

"Better?" she smiled, gently sitting next to him on the edge of his mattress.

"Since sharing my cot seems to be out of the question, it will do."

"I think my staying the night in the room with you has shocked the nurses enough," Cora grinned. "I don't think we should scandalize the whole hospital by sharing a bed."

"I don't know," he mumbled, his eyes drifting closed. "We've never scandalized a hospital before. It could be fun."

Stretching her hand forward, she combed her fingers through his hair. "I think you're still under the effects of the anesthetic," she chuckled softly.

"I love you, Cora," he whispered, his voice slurred and already becoming thick with sleep.

Cora leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I love you too," she murmured, a small and relieved smile wreathing her lips.


Glancing at the clock on the wall, she returned her pen to its holder and let out a heavy sigh. She stretched the stiff muscles of her back and pushed her chair away from the desk. It was time for her to make another round of the floor. She got to her feet and quietly began her trek down the quiet hall. Instead of the beginning with the nearest ward, she moved down to the second to last door at the end of the corridor.

Silently, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open, surprise painting her face. Having lived in the village her whole life, she had heard rumors of the unorthodoxy of the earl and countess' marriage. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her on the other side of the door.

With her lower half on her own cot and her upper body on his lordship's cot, the countess lay with her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her dark tresses had spilled from her coiffure and had fallen to drape over her face like a curtain, concealing her countenance from view. Wrapped snuggly around her shoulders was his lordship's right arm, his hand gripping her shoulder. He lay with his head resting against the top of hers, the angle giving the impression that he had fallen asleep while placing a kiss into her hair. In the middle of his abdomen, just next to his surgery sight, were their clasped hands. Their fingers were tightly entwined, the hold on each other gentle but secure, as though they were afraid of being pulled apart in sleep.

Creeping over to the slumbering couple, she peered down, relieved to see the patient was breathing evenly and some of his color had returned. Loathe to disturb them, she sneaked back out into the hall and silently closed the door. His vitals could be taken later.