This drabble/ one shot has been sitting unfinished in my WIP folder for months now - about time it saw the light of day and got finished. I would like to dedicate this to bella-caecilia who asked about this in a recent tag game on tumblr and effectively reminded me of its existence

The prompt I was given by a friend was: "I don't need a lot to be happy"

My dearest Robert,

I hope this letter reaches you well and in good health, wherever you are right now. I still do not dare to imagine what your daily life looks like and what horrors you are facing. But enough about that — I am sure you want to hear about home.

You will not believe what our daughters did yesterday afternoon. The three of them put on a show for me and your Mama! Edith played the piano — her lessons have not been wasted, I can assure you — while Mary sang so beautifully for us. And darling Sybil danced to their music. What a sight to behold.

It baffles me time and time again how Mary and Edith can be so nasty towards each other and fight all day long, and then put on such a nice show together immediately afterwards. Even Carson clapped excitedly for the girls and their efforts — Mary had insisted he stay and watch the show, as you can imagine.

Apart from that, nothing much has happened since the last time I wrote to you. Life has been slow, and the weather is still cold and windy, not at all pleasant enough to go on strolls alone. Oh, how I miss our daily walks, my dear!

I hope you get to come home soon, at least on leave from the front. I need to see you, my darling one.

But until my tired soul sets eyes on you again, I remain your longing, loving wife

Cora

Robert had had a bright smile on his face when an officer handed him the envelope with his wife's neat writing on it, even more so when he found not one, but two letters in the envelope. Reading his wife's letter first, that smile stayed there and almost extended all the way to his ears. He must have looked like a fool, but he frankly could not care less. He was a man deeply in love with his wife, and who could blame him for that?

She did not write much about life at home, she never did. She missed him, just like he missed her and their family, and that did not improve with writing about it too often, both of them had found. She had stopped writing those long letters full of stories of what happened at home months ago. At first, he had not noticed, he had been too preoccupied with the raging war. Still, when her letters had turned from spanning several pages to barely scraping the bottom of one single page, he had started to worry and eventually posed that question in one of his letters. Her reasoning had only been all too understandable when she replied and it made him miss his family even more.

He could not wait to get home.

Two and a half years. That's how long he had already been stationed in South Africa. He had seen his family only a handful of times in the many months since he got called up to serve his queen and country at the front. Even when he got leave, it was rarely enough to travel all the way back to England and see them. This war had cost him over two precious years of his life already. More than two valuable years he did not get to spend with Cora and their daughters and he couldn't wait to get home, hopefully for good in the near future.

Home. Downton Abbey.

He could still picture vividly the abbey's striking architecture as it rolled into view when one came home from the station or simply went on a long walk across the estate. He was proud, incredibly so, that he was the one to call this his home.

If only he was already standing at the gates to the estate.

But he was not. Not yet, anyway. Robert was still on a boat. One that was set to land in Southampton in only a matter of hours. Sure, he would still have to board several trains to take him up to London, then on to York, Ripon and then finally to Downton.

Home was already well within his reach. He had sent a letter to Taylor when he was on his way back to England to inform him of his arrival in the village but asked the chauffeur to keep it to himself as a surprise for her ladyship. By god, the young Earl hoped his chauffeur had listened and kept it to himself.

Then, on the train taking him to London, Robert had finally found the time and peace to read the letter his daughters had sent him. It was clear that Mary was the one who wrote it — he knew her writing that looked mature and meticulously placed for her age only too well. Reading the words she had written in seemingly hasty penmanship made his heart only grow heavier than it already was. He hated to think of his dear wife in such a state that even their daughters couldn't lighten her mood with a joint performance. Those were rare enough as they were. And it only made him want to get home even quicker.

Dearest Papa,

We sincerely hope you are somewhere safe and not getting yourself in danger.

Mama only just now told us we could write a few lines and put them into her envelope to be sent to you along with her letter, but we do not have much time.

All of us miss you so terribly much and we cannot wait for the next time you get home on leave. It seems like we have already forgotten what you look like — Edith and I have had quite the argument about the colour of your hair. She says it is a very, very dark blond, while I think your hair is a shade of brown. You do need to settle this for us, so please come home soon!

Mama has not been feeling too well since the last time you were home to see us. Ever since you left again, she has been in her room for most of her days and has not taken much interest in anything apart from tea with us and Granny. She looks so awfully, awfully sad all the time and we have not managed to cheer her up for long. Edith and I even played the piano and sang for her while Sybil danced!

Granny said that she is worried about Mama's lack of interest, and I have never seen her look so concerned.

Please, come home very soon, Papa!

That is all we wish for.

Promise us to please stay safe and think of us every once in a while.

Mary, Edith, and Sybil

Oh, he would give anything to see the scene of his daughters trying to cheer their mother up. He would give anything just to see their happy little faces look up at him.

What would his darling girls say once they caught sight of him in this state — his arm in a sling, covered in bandages, a healing gash on his forehead? His wounds and bruises were the sole reason he got granted this longer leave that allowed him to travel home to his family. He had not told them of his injury, not even Cora. He simply couldn't get himself to write those horrid words on paper.

Cora.

How would his beloved wife react when she saw him, battered and bruised as he was?

It was the beginning of May, and what a nice day it was.

Finally, after weeks of nothing but horribly dull weather in all of England, the sun had made a rare reappearance. For the first time in weeks, Cora wanted to go outside and maybe sit on the bench for a while — she would have to ask Thompson for her light coat in a few minutes. Cora had not been outside for longer than a few minutes in at least a month, but that had not entirely been to blame on the weather. Similarly, she had not even responded to any of the invitations to luncheon or tea with her mother-in-law down in the village in the dower house. A fact that would likely turn into a lengthy argument when she would next meet Violet, which was inevitably quite soon.

Cora knew that she should take more of an interest in the estate and entertain more of her acquaintances. But truth be told, she did not feel like it and she had no great aspirations to spend evenings with women who looked down on her because of her heritage, not when Robert wasn't there to cheer her up with a look or a stolen kiss.

She had not seen her husband in well over 9 months, and his last letter had reached her over a month ago. He had never taken so long to respond and it concerned her greatly. What if something happened to him, what if he wasn't coming home?

All of this uncertainty only further added to her uneasiness and sudden need for constant solitude. She found no real joy in things she once loved, and not even her daughters had managed to lift the heavy clouds weighing down on her.

Cora was standing at her bedroom window, looking out over the green grass in front of the house and the gravel path that stretched all the way down to the gates of their estate when she saw a carriage ride up to the house drawn by two horses.

They were not expecting anyone, were they? Or had she forgotten about a visitor? No, that could not be — someone would have reminded her; Mrs Hughes would have, surely.

Quickly, Cora turned and left the well-known comfort of her bedroom to rush downstairs and see who came to see them without prior announcement. Just when she arrived downstairs and crossed the threshold of the grand entryway, their butler opened the carriage door to let whoever was riding in the back step out onto the gravel.

There he was in his khaki uniform, climbing out of the carriage with a bright smile plastered onto his sun-kissed face.

Her eyes must be deceiving her, or maybe this was all just a dream.

Had Carson not looked so surprised himself, she would have believed that this was just wishful thinking, a rather vivid daydream at most. But he was here, he was home. Robert was home.

With three quick and long strides, he reached her, stopping only a metre in front of her when she did not move. His bright smile slowly turned into a frown when she still did not show any reaction to his presence.

"Cora," he said, trying to sound encouraging, and it seemed that this finally snapped her back into reality.

"Are you really here? Or are you just a figment of my imagination?" she breathed, looking up into his excited face.

"I am really here, my dear. I got granted enough leave to travel home at long last," he replied, taking off his beige military hat with his gloved left hand.

Then, without any warning, she closed the gap between them and fell into his arms. Her arms wrapped around his neck almost on their own accord and she pulled herself up into his embrace.

While trying to hold her tightly to him so that she would not fall, he winced and drew in a sharp breath. The sudden impact of her body on his was painful, and so was his right arm being squeezed between their bodies, but he couldn't deny relishing in the familiar sensation he had been deprived of for so long.

"Robert?" she asked alarmedly when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Only then, having stepped away from her husband again, she noticed the sling his right arm was in and caught sight of the already healing cut on his forehead. "Robert, what happened?" she gasped.

"Don't you worry, darling. I was wounded, but not too badly, and they gave me leave to convalesce a little. It is not as bad as it looks, I assure you, my dearest," Robert replied before making a start for the main entrance of his ancestral home. "Where are the girls?"

"They are on a walk with Nanny, I believe," Cora said, not at all sure if this was truly the case. Maybe they had gone on that walk the day before, or maybe Nanny had asked for the day ahead? Cora couldn't remember, she hadn't paid close enough attention. Their girls were not all that little any more, and she trusted their Nanny. It's not that she did not care — she did care, a lot! She just couldn't get her mind to focus on anything lately. Not even on her daughters' whereabouts.

"Good, so you can tell me all about what happened without us being interrupted over a cup of tea," he smiled as they went into the library.

"Cora, I have to ask," Robert said after she had given him an account of what had happened in the last few months since he had last been home to England in August. By the sounds of what she told him, everything seemed perfectly alright, but that did not go well with what his daughters had written. Adding to that, he knew his wife well enough to know that she liked to keep her sadness to herself to spare the feelings of others.

"What is it, darling?"

Cora looked at him wide-eyed, expectation and fearful anticipation clearly visible on her still youthful features while her hands closed around the empty teacup she held close to her chest, sitting up straighter on the settee.

Robert scooted closer, carefully taking one of her hands in his. While she was trying to avoid his gaze, his eyes searched her face worriedly. Calmly, he said: "How have you been, truly?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, pretending to sip from the empty teacup in her hands.

"The girls wrote to me and they said you were incredibly unhappy, hiding away in your bedroom most of the time. They even said that Mama was worried about you. Speaking of which — she, too, wrote to me, about 6 weeks ago, stating that you have ignored all her invitations to come down to the Dower House and also haven't invited her to come here, either. I know you haven't been entertaining, that is somewhat understandable. But this is not like you, dear, no matter how hard she is being on you."

"Nothing gets past you, then," she replied dejectedly. "You know everything, even when you are half a world away. It's true, I have not been feeling my best in recent weeks."

"What can I do? What do you need to be happy again?"

"I don't need a lot to be happy, Robert, you know that," she said dismissively, glancing shyly to the ground near the fireplace.

"Yes, I do know that. But what does it take for you to be happy now? There must be something, surely."

"I need to know you're safe," she replied, finally meeting his gaze.

"And you shall have that for at least another fortnight still," Robert replied, taking her slender fingers in his bigger, unscathed hand.

That was not entirely what she meant and he knew that, but a fortnight was all he had to offer, no matter how much he wished it was more.

"What happened?" she then asked, motioning to his arm to bridge the silence that had fallen over them.

"We were under attack during the night, we had not seen it coming. They cornered us, but we fought back. I was lucky that my batsman had been awake, he warned me just in time, he saved me. We managed to get away, not unscathed, obviously. He had to be taken to a military hospital to get stitched up while they sent me home. So many of our fellow men didn't. But enough about tha-"

Suddenly, squeals of delight filled the library when the three girls entered, almost running to their father but remembering their lessons in etiquette and good behaviour.

"Papa?"

"Papa! It is you!"

"I knew that was your voice I heard from out in the hall!"

It was little Sybil in her light blue dress who first asked: "Papa, what happened to your arm?"

"Oh, that. It's nothing for you to worry about. Papa fell badly and needs to let his arm rest for a little while longer. That is why the doctors gave me a sling."

"And what about your forehead, Papa?" Mary asked curiously.

"Like I said, I took a rather bad fall. But this, too, shall heal again, I have no doubts about that. And now come here and let me hug you," he laughed, opening his arms for his three young daughters.

They all but ran towards him again, throwing their short arms around him while squealing in delight.

"Mary, Edith?" he asked as his daughters hugged him.

Dutifully, they all let go of him, stepped away and looked at him expectantly.

"Yes, Papa?"

"I hope you did not give your mother and Nanny too many grievances while I was away?"

The two elder girls looked at each other rather guiltily, but it was Sybil who eventually replied: "They did fight a lot, but I managed to calm them down, apologise to each other and then make them play nicely again every single time."

The young girl looked up proudly at her father, bouncing on her feet so that the hem of her dress swayed animatedly with her movements.

"That was very good of you, Sybil, my dear. Thank you," Robert said as he patted his youngest's head. Turning to face Edith and Mary he added: "Now, the two of you have undoubtedly noticed that I have not yet replied to your last letter and there is still an unresolved argument, isn't there?"

"What do you mean, Papa?" Edith asked sheepishly, her eyes flitting from her father to her mother and back again to her father.

"Well, I gather the two of you have been fighting about the colour of my hair, haven't you?"

"Oh, that. That was nothing, Papa. It was just a silly argument, I should not have mentioned it," replied Mary hastily, trying to diminish the fight she mentioned in the letter to their father. It was, after all, a truly banal question that she posed.

"Was it really silly if you indeed argued over it?" he said when his daughters both shook their heads no rather shamefully. "No, I didn't think so. If you were to ask your Granny for photographs and paintings of me in my youth, you would find that my hair indeed used to be lighter. I had blonde hair when I was a child, with a hint of red in it, just like Aunt Rosamund. Then, as I grew older, it got darker until the darker shade of blonde I had in my youth had turned into brown. Until finally, in the last few months especially, it has started to turn increasingly more grey."

The Earl leant forward in his seated position and pointed towards his temples to let his daughters inspect what he had just told them. And it was true, the hair at his temples was already turning considerably grey, even though he had not yet reached 40.

Just then, Nanny came to call the girls upstairs for their bath. Diligently, Mary and Edith bid their parents goodbye and quickly dashed upstairs. Only Sybil stayed back and moved closer to her father.

With her voice barely above a whisper — as if she were to plot something with him — she said: "You know, Papa, they didn't fight badly about this. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I can't let them lie to you and mama. They didn't fight about the colour of your hair. In fact, they never truly argued about your hair at all, we simply talked about you, what we remembered about you and how much we missed you. This was all just a plan we came up with that was meant to get you to come home to us faster. We thought if we exaggerated things, you might be able to come home. I am sorry," the young girl said, bowing her head ashamedly.

"Sybil, darling, I know."

"You do?" she asked. Her brown eyes were wide when she looked back up at her father with surprise and shock

"Yes, of course. Why would you ever seriously fight about something so insignificant like the colour of my hair? And I am not mad about this plan of yours, not in the least. I wouldn't even have been mad if they had argued."

"You would not?" Sybil asked.

"You would not?" Cora echoed her daughter, almost at the same time and just as surprised.

Robert quickly smiled at Cora before turning back to face his daughter. He took Sybil's small hands in his.

"Sybil, your sisters argue over many things. They always have and they likely always will. They are very different people, and both have inherited their mother's strong determination, as have you. That leads them to argue a lot, but they are still sisters. They love you and they love each other, they just can't show it. They don't know how. This plan of yours just shows that you care; all of you do, and I am glad for it. So no, I am not mad that you lied."

Sybil beamed brightly at him, more than relieved that her Papa was not cross with any of them for their deception, and quickly made to leave the room and follow her sisters upstairs.

"But only this once, little lady," he shouted after her when she was already out the door.

Her head peeked back around the wooden door again, still smiling widely, as she said: "Of course, Papa, we will never lie, ever again!"

Her parents shared a laugh at that, both knowing this to be quite far from the truth. Neither of them was an only child, after all. Just when they thought they had the library to themselves again and Robert made to kiss his wife, Carson entered with a silver tray in hand. Starting to get quite irritated by the interruption, he asked rather harshly: "What is it now, Carson?"

"I am sorry to interrupt you, milord, but this just arrived for you," the butler replied as he lowered the tray for him to retrieve the envelope. "I will also ring the dressing gong in a minute." Then, turning to face the lady of the house, he said: Oh, and the Dowager Countess has also sent word that she will arrive very soon. She will stay for dinner and she will not take no for an answer this time."

"Thank you, Carson," both of them said in unison, and Robert helped his wife up from the settee. He knew she would immediately want to go down to the kitchens and report the change in the menu to their still rather new cook and inform her of the two extra stomachs that needed to be filled.

Sure enough, Carson rang the gong as soon as he was out in the hall again and soon after that, Violet arrived at the abbey. All evening, Robert wanted nothing more than to finally be alone with his wife. And yet, his mother, who was understandably quite joyous about his leave of convalescence, simply would not leave that night.

It was almost midnight by the time they were alone in her bedroom, both exhausted after the events and surprises of the day.

Lying in bed, Robert watched his wife, who was still sitting at her dressing table and took off her jewellery. He saw how preoccupied she seemed, that her mind was somewhere miles away. Cora had her brow furrowed and pensively took off her right earring while staring at her reflection in the mirror with a frown on her face.

"Cora, what do you truly need to be happy?"

"I told you already, darling. I don't need much to be happy."

"Yes, I know you don't. But what is it that you truly need or desire? What would make you feel better?" Robert pressed on.

Silence.

For a minute, a deafening silence filled the otherwise cosy bedroom. His wife looked at him through the mirror on the vanity. She let her gaze wander from the long laceration on his forehead to his arm resting limply in the sling, and then back up to his face.

"You, Robert. You are who and what I need. I need you with me, here at Downton, and not away on another continent fighting for your life every single minute of every single day. I need you here with me. I need to be sure that you're safe, that you are far out of harm's way. I need to know you're alive, that you'll come home to me."

Cora turned and finally looked at him.

When he did not reply, she added: "It seems like I have steadily gotten worse at coping without you here. It is true, what the girls wrote in their letter to you. I have been unhappy and I have been ignoring your mother's messages and invitations. I am honestly quite surprised I did not get an earful about that tonight. No doubt that was only because of your unforeseen presence."

"I think you might be right about that, dearest," he chuckled. The same thought had crossed his mind already, as well, and it would be in his mother's character.

"Robert, I mean it. Look at you, you have been hurt badly-"

"It could have been worse, so much worse. So many of my comrades will never return home like I did. But I had a lucky charm that saved me. Which reminds me-"

As gracefully as he could, he hoisted himself out of bed and went to his dressing room. Cora only heard how he rummaged through something, muttering under his breath, until he eventually returned and took a seat on the cushioned bench at the foot of their bed.

"I want you to have this back," he said, extending his left hand.

With surprise written all over her face, Cora looked at what he tried to give her.

It was her lucky charm, the small toy dog she had insisted Robert take with him to the front when he was first called up. Her father had given it to her when she was a young girl and it had always brought her luck, and so she wanted Robert to have it. He would need all the luck he could get, she had figured.

"No, Robert. You need it. I can't take it from you."

"You can. Your lucky charm did its trick, it saved me. I am here, am I not? Please, I insist."

Once again, he urged her to take the toy, extending his arm further towards her.

"No, take it back with you. This time, you and your batsman were only injured. But god knows what will happen next time," Cora replied adamantly.

She took his hand and closed it around the small dog, trying to push Robert's hand back towards his chest.

"Cora, take it, please. I have no use for it any longer. There is nowhere left I could take it."

"I don't understand?"

"The mysterious letter Carson brought this afternoon. I never told you what it was about, did I?"

Seeming more than slightly confused about the sudden change of subject, Cora shook her head no. They hadn't had a chance to talk since then, and she had already forgotten about the letter delivered to him, if she was completely honest with herself.

"It was a telegram from the general I served under in Africa. He said that the last of the guerillas finally surrendered a few days ago and that a treaty is currently in the works, waiting to be signed. That will put an end to this war once and for all. I don't need your lucky charm any longer because I'm staying. I'm staying for good this time, Cora," he smiled.

"You will never have to go back there?" she asked, bewilderment written all over her features.

"No. I will never have to go back there. The war is over for me, for us. I am home and I wanted you to be the first person to know."

Robert tried again to give Cora the toy. And this time, she took it. Gladly. She stood up and put it on her nightstand before getting into bed, waiting for him to do the same.

He lifted the covers on his side of the bed and slid under them, carefully trying not to move his arm too much. Once she had finally settled into bed next to him and her head was resting on his chest as she snuggled up to him, he asked: "Cora, are you happy now?"

"I told you, I don't need a lot to be happy," she replied. "And this proves it. Yes, I am so very happy."

"Good, so am I."