This is set in s2 between the last episode and the Christmas special. Sybil just left for Ireland, and Cobert is trying to mend their marriage. Hope you enjoy the angst. Please review!

Turquoise – Narcissism & Secrecy

She turned the beads of the new necklace between her fingers. It was a peculiarly striking colour. Turquoise. She had no idea what made Robert opt for this particular piece of jewellery. She had an encumbering inkling of what provoked this purchase and she forbade herself every further thought about it. But why turquoise jewellery? It was a desperately strange present. Cora looked up as Robert's snort broke the silence in the library. She let go of the long necklace with its blueberry-sized beads and it thudded against her ribs. The end of the necklace rested right above her stomach. Robert stood next to his desk and shook his head. He snorted again as he perused the content of the letter in his hand.

"What is it?" Cora inquired.

Robert folded the letter rather forcefully. "No." His tone was resolute.

"What?" Cora repeated less patiently.

"They are really testing my good nature now. I gave them my blessing and this should certainly be enough."

Sybil. So, Cora's feeling had been right and the letter Robert had not opened during breakfast and kept sealed in the pocket of his jacket from where it poked out until now was from Sybil. Cora's heart made a leap. Hearing Robert speak so harshly about her dear Sybil who was on her own in a foreign country, provoked Cora's mother instinct immediately.

"But what does she say?" Cora asked. She felt like a fool having to ask her roughly grumpy husband for the tiniest bit of information about her daughter.

"She says she wants us to come to Ireland for her wedding." Robert turned away from her but Cora still saw how he stuffed the letter deep into an overflowing drawer. He put so much effort into pushing into the farthest corner as if he wanted to make sure that it would never again fall into his hands. Or anyone's hands. But Cora memorised exactly where Sybil's crinkled words were being buried. She would find them again if she had to.

"You don't want to go," Cora said, her voice calm and cold. The icy clutch of disappointment closed around her heart. She had thought everything was fine and harmonious since Robert gave Sybil and Branson his blessing on Lavinia's funeral. But he was obviously very upset.

"Of course I'm not going to Ireland to attend a Catholic wedding of a revolutionary chauffeur," he spat out. With force, he closed the drawer and pressed his palms into the tabletop. He breathed heavily.

Cora had been so intent on creating and keeping concord between Robert and her since the fright of her Spanish flu had brought up the depths of the cracks in their marriage so painfully. They both seemed to have realised that they had been so close to losing something very dear, regardless of the Spanish flu. So, the last weeks had been marked by gentle and carefully attentive interactions. Cora wanted to bring the peace back into their marriage that had somehow drifted away. No peace of indifference, no peace of distance, but the just so valuable peace of intimate togetherness. So, objecting to Robert was entirely off the table for the last many weeks.

It was the first time since she had fallen ill, that she spoke up against him. "It's your daughter's wedding you are talking about. I don't want you to rule it out so resolutely to attend your daughter's – Sybil's! – wedding! She asking you a question and the least you can do is consider it. You can come to the decision you want, but don't forget it is Sybil you are talking about." Cora kept her voice low but the straightening of Robert's back showed her that every word of her had reached its target without fault.

He sighed. His shoulders slumped. And then slowly, he turned around halfway. He didn't look at Cora but she could see the profile of his face again. His voice wasn't as harsh when he spoke again.

"I know. I know it's Sybil. That is what makes the circumstances under which this wedding is held so much more appalling. I do not care how a Catholic driver in Ireland with revolutionary ideologies holds his wedding ceremony." Through gritted teeth, he added, "But it's our Sybil."

Our. The ice in Cora's chest began melting from the inside. Robert's 'our' – a rare admission in the last time – warmed Cora's heart involuntarily, regardless of his stance. Consciously or not, he had been rather intent on making clear that they were two individuals until she had fallen ill. Cora had her suspicions about what had made it necessary for him to stop thinking of her as a part of him. But they were on their way back together again. Now, at last, there was no reason for dwelling on thoughts of what had happened behind closed doors. Robert was including their old 'we' and 'our' in his thoughts again. They were getting better.

Cora kneaded her hands. She coughed, and then asked in a breath, "May I read it maybe?"

Robert froze as he considered her question. He declared his answer directed at the bookshelves, still not looking at Cora. "Yes, you may. But I just put it away."

Cora quickly stood up from the settee. "I can get it."

She was halfway to the desk when Robert jumped in her way and put his palm guardingly in front of the drawer. "No!"

Cora recoiled slightly in surprise. She looked up at him with wide-open eyes. They were looking directly at each other for the first time during this discussion. And in his fearful eyes, she saw what she already knew. He had a secret. Even though he said 'our Sybil', not everything was all theirs again. There were things that were just his. Cora didn't want to have anything to do with them. But seeing the proof in his eyes that they existed, was a stab to her slowly healing heart. Their love had been bruised and healing it by trying to forget wasn't going as fast and successfully as Cora had hoped. Cora's hand wandered to her necklace. Her fingers traced the beads as she felt Robert's heavy breaths on her temple. His gaze dropped to her hand, following the way of the turquoise beads down her chest to the apex of her painfully plummeting heart. Cora knew that they were both aware that her fingertips were tracing the one physical proof of Robert's guilt. The other was probably hidden in the drawer.

"I'll give it to you," Robert whispered as he averted his gaze. He turned around and rummaged for Sybil's letter. For a moment, only the rustling of paper was audible. Cora waited behind Robert. She was unable to move. The silence was heavy. Still searching for the letter that Cora would have found without fault already, Robert seemed unable to bear the silence any longer. But as he continued talking, Cora heard how his tongue was struggling to articulate the words that he tried to bring out as lightly as possible. Cora registered the anxiously laboured delivery of the words.

"Do you like the necklace?"

As if Robert's addressing it burned her fingers, Cora dropped the beads in an instant. She looked down at the dark grain travelling through the striking turquoise, like deep and unmendable cracks. The dark grain belonged to the stones. The cracks belonged to their marriage. She hated it.

"Yes, it is very nice. Thank you!" She hoped that he didn't catch the hollow echo of her untrue exclamation as much as she hoped and told herself that this ghastly gift was a good sign for their marriage. That both her white lie and his gift out of guilt were signs that they tried. That they tried to mend what was still mendable. And maybe one day they would be able to forget that the war had made her neglect him and made him seek refuge somewhere else. Cora's hands closed in forceful fists around the necklace as if she could strangle the secret guilt like that.

"Well, I'm glad." Robert turned around with the slightly damaged letter in his hands. "I was afraid it wouldn't be to your taste. But everything else was too boring I felt. Not enough. We can get you another one if you're unhappy."

Cora took the letter from him. "No, I'm not," she whispered weakly. We're not unhappy, we're not unhappy…

Robert pointed to the letter in her hands. "You can read but you should not try to change my mind. I don't want to discuss it. I do not want you to be like them and take my whole hand when I'm offering my little finger."

But why are you not offering an entire embrace? Why do you only allow us your little finger?

Cora nodded. "I only want to read it," she whispered as her eyes already travelled over the letter. She was distantly aware that Robert pulled out the desk chair for her to sit on. Only briefly she looked up and thanked him with a nod before she sat down. Robert went to the window while she read. He looked out and seemed to wait for her.

Dear Papa,

The journey to Dublin went rather well despite a few minor complications. We finally arrived, and I am having my own pleasant enough room in the house of Tom's mother. Believe me, she is not particularly more overjoyed about the union of Tom and me than you are. But you don't have to worry; she is still treating me kindly. She does expect me to help her in the house when I'm living here but that is more than fine with me. After all, I'm not the naïve debutante anymore. I feel much more like Nurse Crawley than Lady Sybil here and I have to say – even though it will make your blood boil upon reading this, I'm sure – I prefer it that way actually. I do not mind making my own bed and peeling potatoes for dinner. But I guess I would scare you and Mama by telling you such details. Still, I do not want to withhold them from you.

I do not only write because I want to tell you that I arrived safely (which I hope I managed to convince you of by now), I also want to inform you that our plans evolved. Tom and I visited his mother's church here in Dublin and finally received our final wedding date. The pastor will officiate our wedding on the 21st of June. We would be very happy to welcome you and celebrate this day with you together. I already convinced Mrs Branson to extend the usual wedding feast so that all of you (because Tom and I hope dearly that you and Mama, Mary and Edith, and Granny if she feels up to an Irish wedding, will attend) find something to your liking. We are very much looking forward to this special day and to share it with you.

But now, I have to run down, Mrs Branson called me. I think it's wash day today. Give Mama a kiss from me! I do hope she is still getting better.

Love, Sybil

Cora ran her fingertip over the dark ink. The words got less neat at the end of the letter as the scribbling became hastier due to the lack of time. Cora knew she would read this letter over and over many times. Especially if Robert insisted on not attending the wedding.

"Thank you," she breathed.

Robert turned his attention from the window to her. He watched her as she still followed the lines of Sybil's words with her finger.

"Sure. You can keep it if you want."

Cora looked up at him. And she smiled. Genuinely. She recognised in his slightly pained but open expression that he wouldn't go, that he had made his decision. But in a way, he still acknowledged her feelings. He knew she needed the letter.

"Thank you," she repeated. She pressed the letter, which she folded one time, against her chest.

"I can't go, Cora," he said.

"I know."

"And you are still quite attenuated from your flu."

Cora nodded. Her chest hurt. She wished it was easier. She wished she wasn't torn between two different fronts like she was drawn by quarters if she demanded being a part of both. She just nodded again. And then she took one hand from the letter at her chest and held it out for Robert. She held Sybil and her unending and unconditional love against her chest. And she received Robert's warm hand; chose to make an effort for their love and marriage instead of making an effort for her daughter. For her marriage, she had to fight. This truth tasted bitter but Cora needed to swallow this bitter medicine because their marriage had to come through this. Sweet Sybil would understand. Sybil's love made no distinction between the ones that gave a lot and the ones that gave little. Cora relied on the certainty that Sybil wouldn't reproach her for the fact that for once, Cora was only giving her a little. Sybil would understand.

Robert was squeezing her hand. Cora pulled it to her chest, next to the letter. Robert's demeanour gave her hope that at least, it was worth it. They would find their way through it, she told herself. The turquoise beads bore into the gaps between her ribs, crinkled the letter, and rubbed against Robert's knuckles. Cora was looking forward to putting the necklace off when it wasn't necessary anymore. When they didn't need this sign of effort anymore. When they were better.