This one is a rather heavy one I wrote, and it goes deeper into death and dealing with grief and trauma, so please take this as a trigger warning before reading further. And also, I have never written anything like it, so this is a first...

For this one-chapter-fic I was thinking about THAT scene in season 6 and what could have happened had things not turned out so well as they did on the show. So this is Cora, the widow for you...

She lay there, in her usually comfortable bed, unmoving, barely even breathing at all, but it was not comfortable at all. It hurt going to bed alone, it hurt waking up alone, it hurt being alone in their bedroom. It all just hurt too much, and it all felt so wrong. She felt numb, and at the same time, she also felt it all, felt everything, all at once. She did not want to breathe. How could she when he was not? But her body ached and screamed at her to inhale oxygen. And, albeit reluctantly, she listened to her body, over and over again. She needed to keep going, for him and for the family they had started together years ago. What would he say if he saw her like this?

No, she needed to get herself together, especially today. It was going to be a hard and long day, and so very painful. But it was her duty, her duty to him, to their family, to the estate and all the people in the village. Duty had meant a lot to him, and so it meant a lot to her.

Cora sat up on the edge of her bed, waiting to stand up until the dizziness had lessened slightly, and tugged at the chord that would ring the bell for Baxter.

Her lady's maid had seemingly been very close already since the door opened after what felt like a second to her. But then again, maybe that was just her perception of things. It seemed all quite warped to her.

"Good morning, my lady. I have brought you some breakfast. I know that you said that you did not want any, but you do need to eat, you need strength, especially today," said Baxter when she entered with a tray in her hands.

Cora, who was then standing near the window overlooking the garden, only managed a weak smile in the woman's direction.

"I will just put it here on the dresser, in case you decide to eat a little something later on. Shall we start getting dressed, my lady?"

Instead of answering, Cora turned around and went over to the chair where Baxter had already put out her clothes for the day. All black, of course. It reminded her again of the occasion, something she did not want to be reminded of.

Baxter smiled at Cora with empathy and her own sadness reflected in her eyes. She had not worked for the Countess for that long, only roughly three years, but she was very fond of her employers. The both of them were very kind and generous people, and Baxter felt for her mistress. She could not fathom what losing a husband like that must have felt like, especially with the special bond they had shared. They had both so very clearly been in love with each other, even after more than thirty years of marriage, she could tell by their exchanged looks and the way they spoke to one another so endearingly.

Not wanting to disturb her even more, Baxter worked quickly and silently on getting her dressed before leaving the blue bedroom again to attend to the rest of the things on her list of duties for the day.

Cora had a look at the breakfast tray on the dresser and immediately felt sick to her stomach, but Baxter was right. She needed to eat something, or else she might not be able to make it through the day. The small piece of toast she ate would hopefully suffice since that was all she managed to get down.

She looked around the room that felt strangely empty, even though everything that was supposed to be there, was. Even his book was still lying on the bedside table just where he had put it the night before everything changed, a bookmark stuck somewhere in the middle where he had last read.

It had been a week since that dinner and the frightful night in the hospital, the night spent pacing and waiting and praying and looking at her hands in disbelief that this was truly happening. Her hands had been stained red, even underneath where her gloves had been, and she felt as if it was still there. The blood. There was so much of it, and it was everywhere. It haunted her whenever she closed her eyes, it haunted her sleep. It all haunted her, and how could it not?

That night had changed her as a person, had changed her whole life. At the beginning of the night, she had been the hostess to the Minister of Health, she had been the Countess of Grantham. But when she returned home the next morning, she had become the Dowager Countess of Grantham, a title she now shared with her mother-in-law. She started the night as a wife happy and content with her life, and she ended it as a widow whose heart had grown icy-cold, barely even beating the second he had gone.

Cora sunk down into the chair, his chair. The chair he had always occupied in the evenings when she was still getting ready to go down to dinner or bed, when he had watched her and waited for her and talked to her.

He had felt unwell for weeks, even months, but he had got better over time. Or so he had kept telling her. Maybe he had lied to keep her from worrying, that would have been very in character for him. But she would never find out, she couldn't ask him any more, because he was gone. Despite everything being exactly where he had last put it, he was not there, not any more. His presence in the room had made it feel complete, had given it its warmth, she realised, and now she would never again feel so at home anywhere.

Her Robert. He had told her that he would be fine, that he would just take things easier for a few days after the dinner with Neville Chamberlain, and that he would be fine. And she had believed him. He had sat in this very chair and told her that he would be fine. And she had believed him because she wanted it to be true. She had believed him because she needed it to be true.

There was a knock at the door, but she did not answer, too deep in thought while looking at his discarded leather-bound book on his bedside table to even take notice.

"Mama, it is time," said a soft voice.

It was Mary, her darling daughter Mary, who entered the room and then came to a halt next to her, putting a hand on her mother's shoulder.

When she got no reaction, she tried again, this time a bit louder and tougher, but still sounding gentle: "Mama, we need to go down now, they are waiting for us. I know how hard this is, but we have to."

Cora knew. She knew that her daughter knew of her hurt, her grief, of her broken heart. It had been her daughter who had to bury her husband just four short years ago, almost immediately after giving birth to their son. Cora had seen her in her grief, how it had almost broken her strong daughter, and it had broken her heart to see her daughter like that. And now they had to bury her father, the man she had looked up to all her life, who she had worked with, who she would have to replace for well over a decade until her own son was old enough to run the estate.

Guided by her daughter, Cora descended the wooden staircase she had walked up and down next to him countless times over the last thirty years. It felt wrong to not have him at her side, guiding her.

In the great hall, the rest of the family was already gathered. And they were all looking at her, how she walked down the steps painfully slowly, her eyes cast down to the ground beneath her feet. She walked on, passing everyone, and stopped only when she had reached the grand wooden doors of their home, Downton Abbey.

Her breathing stopped again, very briefly, when she looked on. There, in front of her and only a few feet away, was the motor with her husband's coffin in the back, shielded by the glass surrounding it. It was adorned with several wreaths made out of white flowers, just like Matthew's had been, and darling Sybil's.

She must have stood there, unmoving, for a while as the rest started to form the line that would follow her down to the village. At one point, she felt a hand on her shoulder, but this time it was not Mary, the hand somehow feeling heavier than her daughter's had.

It was Rosamund, her sister-in-law. The red-head did not say anything, and only looked at her, squeezing her shoulder gently. Rosamund, too, knew of her pain, having lost her husband Marmaduke many years ago after only a few short years of married bliss. But more importantly, she had just lost her brother. Still, there she was, by her side, trying to comfort her and help her through it all.

Cora gulped.

Tears were already clouding her vision, but she had to start walking, had to follow his coffin down to the village, had to bury him and say goodbye forever. She saw the people lining the gravel path leading from the house, all dressed in their best clothes, the men removing their hats in respect as the procession passed them by.

At first, Cora tried to walk and look ahead, occasionally looking at the many people who stood the honour guard for their Earl. When she had passed the first rows of them, however, she had to avert her gaze again, now letting it rest on the coffin, where it stayed until they had reached the church and the men had taken him inside. She could not bear looking at the people who had come to show him their respect for the last time, it was too much for her.

The service was all a haze to her. She tried to listen to what was said, but she could not. She just sat there, looking at her husband's coffin lying in state near the altar, thinking back to better times while silently crying. And later, she watched as they lowered him into the ground next to their daughter, Sybil. She had been his darling, she was their youngest, and her death had nearly torn them apart.

At last, he was reunited with her, but so many years before he should have.

The rest of the day went by in even more of a haze. She could not recall how they got back to the house, or what they had for luncheon and dinner – she could not even recall having sat down for any of it. But she must have, and the time had passed somehow, for she was sitting in their room – her room – again.

She sat in his chair, but less dignified than he ever had, and even less dignified than she should have as the countess. She sat there and looked at where he should be lying in bed, reading his book before falling asleep next to her, just like he had done for thirty years. But he was not, and he would never again. Trying to keep her from thinking of their usual evening rituals, she closed her eyes, hoping to think of anything but him.

To no avail.

She saw him standing up from the dinner table, trying to turn away and making his excuses for this undignified behaviour in front of the guests. She saw him double over, saw the blood splattering from his mouth as he made spluttering sounds. She saw it hit the white tablecloth, and she knew it would hit her next, the feeling of the blood on her still lingering, even a week later, when it had long since been washed off.

Cora saw how he collapsed, how people tried to help, how Dr Clarkson and Cousin Isobel tried to save him with their quick thinking. It was as if she were kneeling beside him again, blood pooling out of him whenever he opened his mouth as she cradled his head in her hands. He tried to talk to her, tried to tell her that he loved her, but she would not let him. This just could not be it for him, it could not be it for them.

Oh, she should have let him speak, should have allowed him to say what he wanted to, and needed to. And if she had known that those really would be his last words, she would have let him. She should have let him.

That night had been the worst night of her life, sitting there in the hospital waiting room, her husband's blood all over her clothes and possibly still her face. She had not bothered going to the washroom yet. She needed to wait, needed to know he would be alright, just like she had told him when she had held his head in her lap.

And then the doctor came. His face told her everything before he even uttered the words. She did not remember much of what he had said, but there was one sentence that kept ringing out in her head again and again.

We were not able to save him.

They were not able to save him. They were not able to save him.

He was gone, well and truly gone. She would never see his face again, see him smile, kiss him. She would never see her Robert again, and the last memory she had left was how he was lying in a pool of his own blood in their dining room, wanting to speak his mind. And she had not let him. She had let her own fear of emotions get in the way of him voicing his, she had silenced him with her own foolishness and forced positive thinking.

There was a hand on her shoulder, and it finally took her out of the state she had put herself in yet again by closing her eyes when she was not tired. The slight touch made her open her eyes abruptly, panting heavily, looking around the room wide-eyed with fear and horror, tears staining her cheeks.

"Oh, my dear, I know."

Cora knew that voice, but she never expected to hear it then, least of all in her bedroom.

It was Violet, her mother-in-law, who had been in as much of a daze as she had been in since the funeral a week ago. Neither of them had said a single word that entire day, even when people talked to them, not that they had taken much notice of anything that went on around them. Cora still was not talking much, only the bare necessities to Baxter, and sometimes the family when asked something, but that was rare. She barely even left her bedroom, always being found by her lady's maid curled up on the chair he used to occupy.

"I know, Cora. I know what you are feeling, and I think I know what you are thinking. But you cannot change it. As much as you want to go back and change it, you cannot."

Then the room fell silent again, and it stayed silent for a while. Violet let go of her shoulder and slowly walked over to Cora's chaise longue to sit down, leaning heavily on her walking stick.

It was Cora who interrupted the silence that befell them, her voice barely above a whisper, sounding hoarse from not speaking and all the things weighing on her, looking at Violet. She searched the older woman's face to try to determine the reason her mother-in-law was there in her bedroom. It was most unusual after all.

"If only I had let him speak. He knew what was coming, and he wanted to speak his mind, and I did not let him. I let him die without being able to say his piece. I knew what he wanted to say so desperately, and I shushed him. And I did not even say it back."

Cora looked away from her mother-in-law, and buried her face in her hands, the tears she had held back now freely falling into her lap.

"Cora, I know that you might not want to hear this from me given our history, but please do not make the mistake of beating yourself up over what you did or did not do that night. Robert knew how much he meant to you, he knew you loved him with all that you had to give. And you were everything to him. It was so clear to anyone who saw the both of you. In a world where marriages involve little to no love at all, you two loved each other enough to make up for everybody else. I cannot say that I had the same connection with his father because that would be a lie, but I loved Patrick, in my own way, and he loved me, in his own way. And I, similar to you, did not let him speak his mind before he died. I did not want him to, because it made it all real, and I was not ready for that."

The two women looked at each other. Violet, who was still occupying Cora's chaise longue opposite the chair, was the first to break their eye contact, looking for a handkerchief in the small bag she brought with her.

"I thought Papa had died in his sleep?" Cora managed to get out while taking one of her own handkerchiefs out of the drawer nearest to her and handing it to her mother-in-law, before taking one for herself.

"That is what I told you, yes. I did not know how else to explain to Robert that his father had died without me calling him into the room to say goodbye. It all happened fast, so very fast, and I did not even think clearly enough to have the sense to call for anyone when it was happening. I wanted Robert to think that his Papa had died peacefully, they were so frightfully close to one another, and he was struggling enough with his death as it was. I wanted to protect him from the reality. Patrick's death was not peaceful, but it also was nowhere near as horrific as -"

Violet stopped herself, having to dab at the corners of her eyes where the tears were already starting to fall. After taking a deep and calming breath to steady herself, she started to recount the real events of the night over two decades prior.

"He had had trouble breathing due to his pneumonia for days, so at first I did not recognize it getting worse, he had also always been sleeping in the dressing room next door. I only went to see him when he was already getting barely enough air in between coughs. He then suddenly started to cough more violently and then wanted to say so many things in between coughs. I stopped him, I told him to save his energy, to wait until the coughing fit was over, and that I would call for the doctor as soon as he had settled down again. Mind you, it was almost midnight at that point, but I truly wanted to call for the doctor. I just did not want to leave Patrick on his own when he was like that. I sat on the edge of his bed and held his hand while he coughed, and I felt so helpless. Then he tried talking again – and I shushed him.

And then he just stopped. He stopped coughing violently, he stopped breathing so wheezingly. His hand let go of mine. That's when I knew it, that he had truly gone. Even after this many years, I still think back to that night, how I would not let him say what he wanted to. I often find myself wondering what he wanted to say, find myself regretting not letting him speak, find myself regretting not calling for the doctor or Robert or anyone when the coughing started to get worse. But it is no use. It is in the past and I cannot change it, however much I want to. And I think you feel the same way. Because believe it or not – you and I are more alike than one might think. I just wish we wouldn't both be dowagers, you are far too young to be a widow. It was not his time to go yet, he was still far too young to die, and in such a horrific way. But that seems to be a theme within our family, all the men dying tragically, suddenly and way before their time. First Patrick died, then Marmaduke got caught in the crossfire on his way home from the front, James and Patrick drowned on the Titanic, then Matthew died in that horrible car crash and Edith's Gregson got killed in Germany and now Robert."

Her voice was breaking, something that Cora had never witnessed with her mother-in-law. She had never seen her this emotional, this vulnerable and open about herself and her feelings, but it calmed her down. She could not explain why exactly, because Violet had never had that effect on her, but it did. Maybe it was knowing that her mother-in-law understood her better than she had thought, maybe it was knowing that she had done the same thing Cora had done. Whatever it was, it calmed her down. And it took her mind off that night for just a minute, even though she still cried. They both did. For everything they had both lost.

After a while, Violet dabbed at her tears again and then cleared her throat. Cora saw how her mother-in-law stuffed all her feelings back inside, how she put on a brave face, and it astonished Cora to see it all happen so quickly.

"But I also know that all the Crawley women are tough. We Crawley women all get dealt these horrible cards in life, we get tested in the cruellest ways, but we get through these things, we stay resilient. It may take a lot, but ultimately we stick together, and we manage it, together. That is how it always has been, and how it will continue to be. Cora, we know how hard this is, but you are not alone, you have us, and we are here for you. You need to get better, if not for him, then for us. Your daughters need you, and your grandchildren need you. They all need you now more than ever."

Grateful. That was what she was. Grateful. It took her a second to figure out this strange feeling she felt with her mother-in-law sitting opposite her, talking about things she had never heard from her said that way before. This feeling was unfamiliar to her, at least in the presence of Mama. This interaction was unlike anything that ever transpired between the two women. But she was grateful because Violet had reminded her of something she had been neglecting to think about for the past weeks.

Robert knew that she had loved him. She never had to say it, because he had always known. And her mother-in-law had reminded her of this, had reminded her that she had been everything to him, just as he had been to her.

He had been everything to her. He had been her Robert, her darling, her everything. And he would always be her everything.