Not This Way, Please

AN: the characters do not belong to me. Thank you to my lovely beta Granthamfan for reading two stories in one night! xx

This is an AU look at 2.8 without THAT MAID, the way things should have been between Robert and Cora when this episode took place.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. That was all he could think as he looked at his wife, lying in the bed so still and lifeless. Where had this wretched sickness come from; this horrid, terrible Spanish flu?

Robert could not tear his eyes away from Cora, always beautiful in his eyes even though she was soaked with perspiration and still had remnants of blood under her nose and on her cheek from the rupture of the mucous membranes. He slowly walked closer to her side, and took the cloth that O'Brien had been using to cool Cora's forehead. He dipped it into the fresh basin of water and gently dabbed at the blood until her skin was clear of any trace of red.

"That's better, my love." Robert sat back in the chair and watched her chest rise and fall with her still-wheezing breaths. Clarkson had said that she would live if she could last the night. Robert glanced at the clock. One in the morning.

"Come on, Cora; only a few more hours. You can do this, my sweetheart. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not this way, please."

He had sent O'Brien to bed an hour before despite her pleas to stay. The woman had been taking care of Cora for over twenty-four hours, and he knew that she was at risk of contracting the disease herself if she did not rest. It gave him the perfect opportunity to stay with Cora. He did not even want to think that it could be their last time together. But, inside he knew this could be the case. If it was, he did not want to miss a minute of time with her, even if she was not alive to witness them.

Robert reached forward and took her clammy hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He felt his eyes well with tears as he observed how warm her palm was with the fever that still ravaged her system.

She didn't look very much different from the young bride he'd married thirty years earlier. They all had changed with age, but it seemed to Robert that Cora had done so the least of any of them. Her hair had come loose and fell around her face and shoulders, some of it stuck to the sides of her head as sweat trickled from her forehead. Through his tear blurred eyes, as peaceful as she appeared, it was easy for him to see no difference in her and his twenty year old bride.

The hours ticked on, and Robert watched and listen for Cora's breathing the entire time. It continued shakily but unendingly to his shocked delight.

When the landscape outside the windows began to lighten, he again noted the time: five o'clock.

He blinked his tears back as he gave her hand another squeeze. "Please, darling, just a few more hours. The night is nearly done. Not this way. You're going to open your eyes, and look at me, and stay with me forever."

At first when the wheezing quieted, a bolt of panic flew through Robert. He squeezed Cora's hand harder.

"Cora? No, please, Cora!"

But when he noticed that her breathing was actually easier and less ragged than it had been earlier, he relaxed. If only Sybil would come to the bedroom! He dared not leave Cora lest he was wrong, but he was certain after observing her for a few more minutes that it had to be a sign that she was getting better.

What felt like hours later, a light knock on the door sounded and Dr. Clarkson entered with Sybil in tow.

"I'm so glad to see you," Robert said. "Her breathing is quieter. Please tell me that's good news."

The doctor nodded and examined Cora before turning to him with a weary smile. "You're right, your Lordship. She is getting better. Her breathing is quieter because it is less labored because the congestion is clearing. She's going to survive."

Sybil gasped in relief and started to cry as she darted across the room and embraced her father.

"Papa, what wonderful news!"

He returned the embrace, forgetting briefly about all of the trouble with Sybil and Branson. None of that was important now. He was not losing his wife, nor were the girls losing their mother.

"When will she wake up?"

"That depends," Clarkson said. "She will be very tired and weak for some time to come. So if she wakes up today, it will be for only a few minutes at a time. Please don't be alarmed, though, because she's healing."

"Thank you, Doctor," Robert said, standing to shake his hand. "Thank you so much."

Once Sybil and the doctor had left the room, Robert sat down next to Cora and stroked her forehead. "Please wake up soon, sweetheart. I know you're tired, but I just want to see your eyes; hear your voice."

A few minutes later, Robert felt a slight pressure from Cora's hand to his own. At first, he thought he might be imagining things. But then he saw that her eyes, though drooping with exhaustion, were open and looking at him.

"Cora! Thank you, sweet love! You came back to me!"

"I couldn't leave you," she whispered. "I love you, Robert. I can't explain how it is, but somehow I felt you with me."

"I was. I couldn't bear to leave you," he said. "Never. It couldn't end like this."

"It won't." Even in her overwhelming weakness, she still wished to reassure him. "I'm not going anywhere. But I need to ask-I fear I can't stay awake for long-would you hold me as I fall back to sleep?"

"Of course, my angel." He pulled her close, doing all of the work so that her fragile body would not have to bear any of the work of motion. "I'll hold you as long as you like."

In only a few minutes, she had fallen back to sleep, and it was then that he knew he could relax. As soon as he laid her in a comfortable position, he let his own body lie back on the pillow and let sleep claim him as well. For he finally knew that the next day would dawn with a much brighter morning. He had his Cora, and that was all that really mattered.

The End