AN: So adama-roslinlove asked for a Spanish Flu continuation and since I can't seem to escape angst at the moment this one has been completed! This is part one of two.

My last chapter for this story saw quite a drop in reviews. I know these are only one shots (and I know they have been angsty) but I love reading the reviews all the same. If anyone has any prompts/scenes they want to see please either PM or leave in the reviews, I will get to them.

Carson meets her at the door and he helps her out the car. She is pleased it is him, there was something reassuring about Carson. About his tall strength as he trails her into the entrance hall. It reminds her of Robert. She swallows, a weakness that has nothing to do with the pain in her joints and the faintness in her head washing over her.

I think Jane was getting attached to ideas above her station m'lady.

O'Brien's words from a week ago wash over her. She pauses, the mental distraction making her feel very dizzy, and cold. Goodness it was cold. Her feet hesitate and she has to remember how to get them to move forward again, the fatigue had made a habit of overcoming her so suddenly.

"M'lady?" Carson's hand has gripped her elbow, she looks up to his face, opening her eyes to look at him, she hadn't realised her eyes had closed. She was exhausted. The breeze at the church had whipped through her as Lavinia's coffin had been lowered into the ground. She had been determined to go but she needed to rest now, it had been too much. Carson drops his hand as she gets control of her balance again.

"Thank you Carson. I think I need to go and rest. Can you tell the others, when they return from the church?" It had all been planned so that she would return alone, ahead of the others, the doctor had been insistent that she was not to overexert herself. His warning had been well-founded.

"Of course m'lady. Would you permit to walk you up the stairs? I don't think I should let you do so alone." Cora nods and they advance across the hall with him a step behind her. Carson had always known what was best and she was not averse to the clear advantage of having a set of hands to catch her if she felt faint on the stairs.

She takes the stairs slowly, clutching onto the bannister for support. Carson stays just behind her, a gentle constant presence. Her last assent up these stairs had been quite alone, as she had left dinner whilst feeling so unwell all those days ago. It was comforting to not be alone this time.

Alone.

She wasn't the only one that had been alone. Her recovery, largely alone in her bedroom, had given her a chance to think about things. Too much time to think. Robert had said they were alright. But the look in his eyes that morning had not matched his words. Of course he wasn't alright, she had neglected him.

I think Jane was getting attached to ideas above her station m'lady.

The words spiral around her thoughts of Robert. She hadn't thought much about what O'Brien had meant. The illness had clouded her memory of the conversation. She hadn't thought anything of it at the time, assuming the maid was simply ambitious. But what if O'Brien had meant something else? What if she had been trying to imply something quite different? 'Above her station' sounded much more like something forbidden than simply ambition. They reach the top of the stairs and she turns to Carson.

"Carson, could you ask Mrs Hughes to come to my room?" O'Brien might have been privy to the decision Jane had made to leave, and clearly had some speculations about it, but if she truly wanted to know Mrs Hughes was the lady to ask. As the housekeeper she would be much more privy to the reasons behind staff departing. In Cora's long experience with Mrs Hughes she had also found her to be an exceptional judge of character with the ability to see straight through most people. She was shrewd. She would know.

"Of course m'lady, and O'Brien?"

"Not yet. Just Mrs Hughes, thank you."

She reaches her room, where Carson leaves her at the door with a promise to send up Mrs Hughes. She starts moving towards her dressing table, but she finds the distance insurmountable. She stops near the bedpost taking hold of it to steady her weary legs. Her hand slides down the vanished wood as she lowers herself into a seated position on the bed. She unbuckles her shoes and slides them off.

She starts pulling the pins from where her hat is secured, anything to ease the headache she can feel coming. The hat comes away, and she starts on her hair, removing pins without much thought. She would look a sight when Mrs Hughes entered the room, but her body needed rest – it was screaming for rest. She would find out what she needed to know from Mrs Hughes and then she could just fall straight onto her pillow.

Mrs Hughes appears quickly, no doubt the concern that had radiated behind Carson's eyes had urged him to seek out Mrs Hughes quickly. She enters the room, and her face portrays a moment of concern, she opens her mouth to speak but Cora anticipates her – she did not want to hear more platitudes of concern. She knew how terrible she looked, she did not need anyone else to tell her so.

"The maid that left, Jane. Why did she leave?" Mrs Hughes' mouth purses, her eyes make another calculating sweep of her appearance before settling into her gaze. Cora sees the moment she makes the decision to lie, her eyes dart downwards and she swallows. Cora's heart accelerates. There had been something going on. Mrs Hughes was not a liar. If she was feeling the urge to lie it was because she was trying to conceal something upsetting.

"I think she found a job more convenient for looking after her son."

"O'Brien said something about her getting ideas above her station, I wondered if that had anything to do with it?" Mrs Hughes looks down again, something akin to pity leaking into her eyes as she looks back up.

"M'lady, I don't think now - " Cora knows then, as the pity spreads further across Mrs Hughes' face, that she had been right. Her brain had connected the right dots. O'Brien's strange comment, the look in the housekeeper's eyes and Robert's determination that she should not be apologising to him. Jane was leaving because she had formed an attachment to Robert that was going to cause trouble. Probably it already had.

"How long was it going on?" Mrs Hughes just looks at her before slowly closing her eyes and tilting her head upwards, as if trying to find the strength to injure an already battered woman.

"I can't possibly say m'lady. It was only a feeling I had that was confirmed by something Jane said."

"And do you know exactly what was going on?"

"No m'lady." Cora find that her shoulders begin to shake, the chill from the funeral catching up with her as the headache seeps into the corners of her mind, the words of Mrs Hughes' confession pounding along with Robert's own apology. "I know it's of very little consolation m'lady, but I don't believe His Lordship completely betrayed you." She should be angry at the impertinence – it was all very well to infer that they were talking about Lord Grantham, but for Mrs Hughes to mention him by name was most improper – but she doesn't have the energy. She dismisses the housekeeper, not taking up her offer to help her undress and go to bed. Another moment looking at those pitiful eyes was not going to do her any good.

She pulls to covers away from the edge of the bed on Robert's side, lacking the energy or desire to move to her own. She pushes her face into his pillow, hoping to comfort herself with his smell, or maybe just to try and bring him closer to her in the only way she can. But there is no scent of him on the pillow. He hadn't returned to her bed yet, fearful of disturbing her sleep, or so he had said. She wonders now if it was guilt that was keeping him away. Was Mrs Hughes right, or was Mrs Hughes trying to alleviate her pain? How far had Robert gone?

Don't apologise to me.

Further than a mere flirtation that was for sure. He wouldn't have apologised if he had simply smiled a little too much or said something misleading. But she thought Mrs Hughes was probably right, he hadn't completely betrayed her. He wouldn't have taken her hand. He wouldn't have even been there. Robert was nothing if not loyal. He would not have been able to give himself to another woman, not unless he had loved her. His being in her room, sitting beside her bed, those were not the actions he would have taken if he had betrayed her completely. He would have been too ashamed. Neither would he have had the strength to let Jane walk away if he had loved her.

It was her own fault. She had neglected him, as she had realised in the moments of clarity she had during her illness. The mind always had a habit of lingering on the negative things, those things one regretted. When close to death it seemed the mind had an even greater ability to do that. Every walk she had refused, every clipped remark she had made in the last few months, years even, had come tumbling into her mind. She had not known when she had apologised though, that she had pushed him quite that far. Far enough to drive him into the arms of another woman.

She tugs his second pillow into her arms, holding it tightly against her. There was only one thing for it, she would have to make it up to him when she was well enough. What had happened had happened, the best option was to amend her behaviour and move forward.

Two months had passed since Lavinia's funeral. She was stronger now, both physically and mentally.

Robert was still distant.

Jane had not been mentioned between them, she doubted she ever would be directly. She could see his pain in his eyes. He was hurting himself about it enough, it was better to keep him in ignorance of the fact she had more of an idea than he knew of why he still refused to hold her at night. She had allowed him to continue his insistence that she was still too tired, too fragile for anything more than a few chaste kisses. She had let him think so, partly because he was right, and partly because she knew that was his way of coping. But it was becoming a little too much for her now, the guilt behind his eyes. It was stopping her resting properly at night and was potentially hindering the what was left of her recovery.

She wanted him to stop punishing himself about it. He might have done something he regretted in a few moments of passion – she did not doubt that Robert had gone further than a single chaste kiss, not now that she had observed his stupor – but she had done wrong too. She had pushed him away and that was as punishable as his actions. Marriage was a partnership and she had failed him long before he had failed her.

He steps through the adjoining door and she smiles, settling her book on the bedside table. He leaves his dressing gown on the chair and removes his house shoes. The rhythm of their marriage settling into the room between them despite the emotional distance. Robert was all too good at making a good show of things, he'd had a lifetime of practice. He settles into the bed beside her and they discuss Sir Richard and Mary, their most common topic of discussion these days. She gives the same answers she always does about Mary being a grown adult and capable of making her own choices and that Matthew is still grieving. She doesn't mention Pamuk, Robert wasn't strong enough for that yet.

She leans back against the pillows and headboard and turns to him, adopting the position that was so familiar to them, her hand trailing gently along the collar of his pyjama shirt. She smooths the tip of her finger along his skin. He doesn't flinch, but his gaze stays fixed elsewhere, as he wonders out loud about Sybil – was she truly doing well in Ireland?

"I think she's fine Robert." Her letters certainly suggested she was more than happy with the life she had chosen.

"But married and living in a foreign country, all in the matter of a few months, it's such a big step."

"Women have done that before you know. I did." He turns to look at her and she feels the emotional shift between them as he gulps.

"Yes, but the lifestyle…" He trails off, his hand running through his hair. That was his scruple. He could not work out how Lady Sybil Crawley could possibly be happy in a life that was not at all about being a lady. He had never grasped why people might not enjoy it like he did, that they might want something different. Whilst she worried for Sybil's ability to cope at least initially in her new life, she did not doubt that it was what Sybil wanted and that she was strong enough to succeed in it.

"I thought you knew that war and love have a way of focusing one's attention on what really matters." The moment had come, to bring the conversation around to them, about what mattered in these four walls. She traces her finger up his neck to where his jaw bone is strained against the skin. "I meant it when I apologised for neglecting you. I am sorry."

"Cora - "

"No Robert, I will apologise because I behaved badly, and you will accept it."

"You weren't the only one that behaved badly." He holds her gaze, reaching forward to take her other hand. She doesn't say anything, to say something now would be to risk admitting that she knew that his behaviour had strayed further than he realised she knew. She did not want that. She did not want his tears and apologies, she just wanted to get back to their marriage and the life they had in front of them. Jane was gone; she was alive; they'd both behaved badly. The matter was over and done with, if only Robert would forgive himself. Or at the very least start to. "It wasn't the war that made me realign my priorities Cora, it was the Spanish flu. You came so close." His eyes are full of water as he squeezes her hand. She moves closer to him, wrapping an arm gently over his chest. "I love you Cora, and I…I - " She shushes him gently, reaching up to pinch the corner of his eyes before he starts to cry.

"I know you do. You don't have to tell me anything else. That's all I need to know." It was all she needed. He would need more time, she knew that. Only time would allow him to forgive himself. He might need many more weeks, but she had forgiven him. She always would. "And for what it's worth, I love you too darling."

"It's worth a very great deal. More than anything else and more than I deserve." He raises her hand gently to his lips and kisses her knuckles before leaning towards her and kissing her forehead. He moves away a little, but she keeps her forehead where she can feel his nose against her hair.

"Will you please kiss me properly?" She glances up at him. He hesitates and she thinks he's going to make an excuse, not yet ready to do anything other than the chaste grazes of his lips that had become their custom in the last several months.

His eyes dance between hers, then down and back up to her lips. He seems to be searching every inch of her face and finding some resolve within himself. It disarms her for a moment. As if he is appraising her to check that she is in fact the woman he thinks; maybe erasing images in his mind of Jane. She swallows. Before her mind can drift down the path of conjuring up too many unfavourable thoughts his thumb finds its place on her jaw bone. She flicks her eyes back up to his. Despite his thumb rubbing softly at her jaw she can see his unease. She closes her eyes and leans into him. He lets her graze her lips over his, but when she parts her lips trying to encourage him to do the same, he pulls away.

"Cora - "

"Please Robert, whatever might have happened; whatever has come and gone between us, we love each other. That hasn't changed. I'm simply asking you to acknowledge that." She doesn't wait for his reply. She tilts her lips to his again and this time, when she parts her lips it coaxes him to do the same.