AN: This is the first of what I think is going to be a series of 3 little one-shots surrounding series 1, episodes 6 and 7.

This one is set in series 1, episode 6. It came about as I mulled over thoughts about the following: Cora is pregnant at this point, Clarkson later says things had 'become irregular' and Robert in episode 6 goes upstairs to 'revive' Cora. This one-shot sort of brings together those ideas but I'm afraid isn't very Cobert, I promise Cobert in part two!

Any mistakes are mine. Please review.

She leans against the doorframe, a rising rumble of discomfort swimming in her stomach. She takes a deep breath and tries to clear her nose of the faint smell of antiseptic and blood.

Isobel had cleaned Sybil up really rather well, but the faint smell of the antiseptic as she had perched beside her on the bed had made her feel faint. Robert's raised voice had only added to troubles, mounting a pounding headache on top of her panic over her youngest daughter.

She was pleased that Sybil was interested in politics. She was delighted that Sybil seemed to have interests beyond the four walls of her ancestral home - it was such a sharp contrast to Mary and Edith, but it was also scary. Or, at least, it had turned scary tonight. What might have happened if Matthew had not been there?

Her eyes prickle, but her pounding head cannot take the idea of crying, if it pounds any more it might explode. She straightens from the doorframe and takes the final few steps along the gallery to her own room. The movement seems to stir the discomfort in her stomach again, the smell of antiseptic clouding into her thoughts again. She places her hand across her stomach, willing herself not to be sick. As she pushes open the door of her bedroom she wretches involuntarily, foul tasting bile lapping at the back of her throat. She darts around the bed to the washroom.

She can feel the cold floor even through her heavily sequinned dress as she falls to the floor before the toilet, thankful at least that she had made it there just in time to throw up the entirety of her dinner.

She sits quietly on the floor for a few minutes, relishing in the cool tiles beneath her legs. She places a hand to her forehead, she was unnaturally warm - maybe she had a cold coming? But she doesn't feel ill, she feels fine. Just a little warm. Now that the nausea was gone she felt rather calm in fact. Her stomach wasn't bubbling with the threat of further episodes. It must have been the shock of finding out Sybil had been hurt and then seeing her blood stained shirt, bruised forehead with the smell of antiseptic, yes, that would be it.

"Cora?" She quickly stands from the floor, taking a flannel from the side to clean her mouth as his voice calls through from her bedroom. She pulls the flush on the toilet again to try and remove the lingering smell of her regurgitated dinner.

"In here." She drops the flannel from her face as he steps into the bathroom.

"Are you alright?" He glances about the room, and then he appraises her, looking for signs that she is ill.

"Fine. I'm fine." She sees the moment his eyes catch sight of the flannel in her hand, and the smear of yellow across its pristine white.

"Have you been sick?" There was no point in lying now, if he stepped any closer he would probably be able to smell it on her breath.

"Yes, but I'm fine, really. It was just the shock and the smell of the antiseptic." He furrows his brow.

"Shall I ring for O'Brien?"

"Yes. Thank you." He steps back into the bedroom and she places the flannel on the edge of the sink before turning on the tap and rinsing her hands, splashing some of the cool water onto her face. She fills one of the glasses on the sink and swirls the water in her mouth, spitting out the last of the remaining rank tasting bile with it.

She steps back into the bedroom. Not at all surprised to see Robert still loitering by the bed.

"I'm fine." She answers his unspoken question.

"I cannot believe Sybil. What is she thinking? And Branson-" He isn't shouting. He is merely wanting to discuss his concerns but she holds up her hand, shaking her head softly from side to side.

"Robert. Please. I can't discuss this now. What's done is done. Sybil is fine. We can work out how to go forward tomorrow." She is pleased that he takes her heed and steps in the direction of the dressing room. Just before he disappears through the door he turns back to look at her.

"I left Mary downstairs with Matthew. She had Mrs Patmore make him sandwiches or something." Cora smiles, the twinkle in her own eyes no doubt matching the one she sees in Robert's. Maybe things were all going to come right. Mary and Matthew had grown closer recently and there was definitely no harm in that. Before she has a chance to voice her thoughts on the matter he slips through the dressing room door.

She takes a seat at her dressing table and waits for O'Brien's arrival. She isn't long and she glides easily into the room, immediately reaching forward to help her remove the necklace she is struggling with. "I'm afraid there is a flannel in the bathroom that will need to be laundered, I was sick." She meets O'Brien's gaze in the mirror as she begins to unfasten her dress.

"Would you like me to send for the doctor m'lady?"

"No, not at all. I'm fine." She stands so that O'Brien can continue to unfasten her gown. The sickness was gone it was true, she didn't feel ill any longer. But there is a strange emptiness beneath the surface of her skin, she sighs, maybe she was due her cycle. She frowns at her own thought, mentally trying to trace back to the last time she'd bled. It had been odd, she recalls it now, about three weeks ago; it had been a week late and then it had been sort of non-existent. It had lasted about two days with not much to show for itself, she had brushed it off as the stresses of preparing to go to London in a few weeks and arranging everything for Sybil's first season, but maybe there was something else going on. She knew that women changed as they got older, her mother had complained about it endlessly in her letters decades ago. She finds herself frowning - maybe that was what all this was about, she was getting older. But wasn't her mother much older than she is now? At least five years older? She shakes her head gently from side to side, she would write to her mother and ask, there was no harm in asking.

She sighs aloud as O'Brien releases her corset, that was better. Much better in fact. Her skin seems to be able to breath and she feels the warmth that had been sticking to her dissipate a little. The tug in her stomach doesn't go though and she sighs again, there was something familiar about it but she can't place her thoughts, her head still splitting with the shouting of earlier, not helped by the fact she had since thrown up her dinner.

"Would you mind asking Mrs Patmore for some eggs with my breakfast in the morning O'Brien? I think I might be rather hungry."

"Of course m'lady. Something could be made for you now I'm sure if you feel up to it?"

"No, no. I'm fine for now. Just the eggs in the morning would be lovely." Her nightgown is pulled over her head and she sits back at the dressing table so O'Brien can begin removing the pins from her hair. She yawns, a strange tiredness settling over her despite how early they are in comparison to normal.

The strange sensation in her abdomen still niggles at her. It did feel like that sensation she got before her monthly, but assuming that odd occasion three weeks ago had been her monthly, she wasn't due for another week. This would be too soon for the annoying nagging that usually only came to frustrate her the day before the whole dreaded moment began. She frowns at her reflection in the mirror, it was probably because she's been sick, nothing to do with her monthly at all. Yet, there was something about it…