AN: There might be a few more of these Extensions for a while. I'm doing a slow rewatch and it's inspiring. Any prompts let me know. This one is angsty because, well, we know I like an angsty one. Please leave a review, they make my day.

Anything you recognise from the show does not belong to me. Cobert love to you all.

"Sometimes Cora you can be curiously unfeeling." Her jaw slackens and her eyes widen, the metaphorical punch hitting her straight between her ribs. She knew he was upset. She knew this conversation had been making him angry. But to throw and land a direct hit on her personally was a new and unexpected decision. Never in his fits of temper had his anger been so plainly directed at her. They'd had their disagreements, but never had he wounded her with so little warning.

She turns away, dropping her eyes from his gaze. Hurt her he might have done, but she would not allow him to see the tears in her eyes and think that he had won. Her feet propel her towards the door as she hears him reach for his drink, the clink of glass telling her he was pouring another. Her feet are almost over the threshold when she hears his soft sigh.

Her heart hammers between her ribs again. A sigh. A singular soft sigh. The sort of sigh he sometimes makes as they fall to sleep beside each other, limbs still entwined. She spins on her heels and pushes the dining room door back open.

"Unfeeling? How dare you!?" He startles in his seat. She sees as his body bounces away from the back of the seat, his eyes meeting hers in a wide gaze as his head swivels to face her. She hadn't needed to shout, he knew every inflection of her voice. His head tilts to one side, his eyes close for a moment and he inhales deeply. She knows he is mustering up the words to apologise.

"Cora, I – "

"No Robert, how dare you?" His eyes widen, her voice has risen in volume and she watches as he swallows his own apology. "How on earth can you accuse me of being unfeeling? If either of us is unfeeling it's you!" Her accusation hits and she sees the brief widening of his eyes.

"Cora, really – " But she ignores his attempts at platitudes. They'd been inching around each other for weeks. Tonight, it had come to a head and it was best they got it all out.

"Oh come on, Robert. You're so busy worrying about how Matthew is going to progress with his life you've failed to notice that Mary is moving on with hers. Mary needs to set a date for her wedding. But instead you're focussing on Matthew. In fact, as much as I've placated Mary in the past, at the moment it does truly seem that Matthew means more to you than she does. Your own daughter!"

"Cora, you know full well that is not true." She's surprised that he's maintained his tone and composure. Her voice was shaking towards the tears that are clogged at the back of her throat, her voice hanging on only by the sheer force of her anger.

"Let me guess, you're going to tell me your feelings for Matthew are different?" His silence is confirmation enough. "Why Robert? Why is the entail and this house still threatening to tear us apart?"

"Because that is the hand I was dealt Cora." He says her name harshly, bluntly. Anger spitting at the end. She'd snapped him, just as she'd hoped she would. "This is the life we live and these are the trials we have to face." He doesn't shout. But she knows he is on the edge of his composure. His words are well rehearsed in their nature, but they are clipped around the edges. Jagged bits of rock, turning gentle waves into a choppy sea.

"But above our own children, really? Surely we should be giving Mary our proper support with her marriage and her life?"

"Cora, I am, and I will, give Mary my support whatever I may think of Sir Richard Carlisle - "

"Oh Robert – " He holds up his hand to cut her off.

"No, Cora, I know what you think of him and I know if it was within your power you'd have Mary and Matthew back together. But contrary to your earlier comments I would rather Mary had the opportunity to be a mother and she can no longer have that with Matthew. I just don't understand why Lavinia has to be offered up as a sacrifice. Why can't Matthew just move on with his life alone?" His gaze is softening and she feels her shoulders momentarily relax. Maybe, after all they were on the same page. Everything he said was true. Except of course he didn't know about the Pamuk scandal that Sir Richard was hanging over Mary's head. Mary was still in love with Matthew, but that was not a marriage for Mary anymore. Anyone that knew her knew that life as a childless nurse to her husband was not for Mary.

"Because Mary needs to focus. She needs to see that Matthew is off the table."

"I still think sacrificing Lavinia is not the way to achieve that. My god Cora, you've made her into some pawn in your own personal game of chess!" His voice is rising again.

"She didn't have to come if she didn't want to!" He actually laughs, a harsh gritty, throaty sound.

"Oh really Cora, I'm not stupid! She's in love with Matthew. Of course, she was going to come, that's why you did it!" He has stood now, his anger flaring as his eyes bore into hers.

"I did it for Mary."

"And you think my love for Matthew is delusional, I think that your love for Mary has gone one step too far. Sacrificing Lavinia to a childless marriage, and a lifelong nurse, is not, in my opinion, the best way to show your love for your daughter!"

"I see. And preening over Matthew and worrying more about his future than Mary's is your best way of loving her, is it?"

"I do not preen. He is my heir. He has a right to my attention. He will be the next Lord Grantham. That's a role only I can teach him about."

"Mary is your daughter!" Her voice comes out almost like a screech. He slams his glass down onto the table, the loud thud cutting across the room.

"And like I've already said, I have duties to Downton. This house is my fourth child. Matthew is – "

"Your fourth child was our stillborn son." It starts as shout. But with the word 'son' her voice cracks. The anger turns to a half scream, half wail of pain, as the memories of the tiny form she associated with the word 'son' spread across her closing eyelids. When she opens them again, a single tear streaks down the cheek. The silence hovering between them is thick and murky. His next words are almost a whisper.

"Cora, I – "

"No Robert." Her voice is slow but firm, catching at the ends with her sobs. "The fact you can say that. The fact our son pails in importance to bricks and mortar says quite enough. Please don't try to defend yourself." She reaches for the sideboard to steady her body. The waves of grief washing over her, trimmed with the froth of her anger, making her feel nauseous. Somewhere from the depths of her subconscious, amongst flashing images of their son, come thoughts that she'd never voiced. Before she can process them amongst the clamour of her raging emotions, she's whispered them into the thick raging storm of the room. "I think I always knew somewhere deep down that my lack of ability to produce you an heir would come back to stab me in the back. I always thought our love would hold us together, but maybe I was wrong."

She grips onto the sideboard more tightly. Her knuckles turning white. A weight seems to lift from around the wreck of an anchor that rests around her heart. She had said it. Her deepest, darkest fear had finally found the light that it had been shaded from down there.

She watches as he pours himself yet another glass of alcohol. But he doesn't drink it. She watches through a veil of fog as he walks towards her. He doesn't stop, as he slides it onto the sideboard beside her, he doesn't even look at her. But as his jacket pushes past her and swirls the air by her elbow he speaks very softly, with the last traces of his anger still lapping at the edges.

"Never have I, nor ever will I, blame you for our lack of a son."