"It's not your maid. I waited until she'd gone."

"You must leave. Mr. Bricker, you must leave. Mr Bricker, I've asked you twice now. Will you please go?" He couldn't help but note she was even softer in her room. With the artifices of propriety stripped away, draped in lush fabrics with her hair tumbling down her back. She is softer, sweeter and he longs to hold her.

"You said yourself, who knows when I'll be back."

"Mr. Bricker-"

"Don't pretend, Cora. You know something's happened between us. You know things have changed now. I feel it and I know you do. When did someone last cherish you? When did someone even listen to you? I've seen you with your family. Ignored and passed over..." The hurt in her eyes registered briefly but he felt he was making headway. So close - so close he could reach out and tangle his fingers in her dark hair and turn her face to his.

"None of this is any reason-"

And then all hell broke lose.

HIs jaw aches. In fact, his jaw is not the only thing that aches. Simon can feel bruises rising along his arms and upper body and he knows he will be stiff come sunrise.

Such a mess. It was all such a bloody mess.

The pain is enough to keep him from sleeping, although he wasn't sure he could have done even without the solid thwap to his jaw. He had been so close and then…

Although with time to think on it, Simon came to the conclusion that he hadn't been nearly as close as he'd believed. Oh, she stood across from him deliciously stripped of her public persona. Loose and warm and inviting, he stood so near her in her private sanctuary that he could smell her scented lotion freshly rubbed into her skin.

And yet even before Lord Grantham had arrived there was a distance. She did not react the way he expected.

He runs the scene in his head over and over and, by the fifteenth time, there is little doubt. Cora never meant - didn't think -

He needs a drink. A stiff shot to ease away the tension in his muscles and erase the horrendous night.

Mr. Bricker, you must leave, she'd said. He knows now she meant it.

The house is different at night. If if was desire that lead him to Cora's door, it is now defeat and shame that keep him wandering aimlessly in search of the library.

Or the parlor. Or the billiard room. Anywhere that might house a bit of a snifter.

At long last he finds himself in the gallery and he descends the grand staircase quietly. There is no movement in the house and Simon hopes upon hope that Cora has settled enough to sleep.

Standing in the main hall, bathed in silvery moonlight, he takes a few seconds to get his bearings. The Abbey is a second home to him, now. He spent so much time here he feels he knows it and he allows himself a few seconds to breathe before he turns in what he believes to be the direction of the library.

The knob turns and he only has the door open a few inches when there is a loud crack and the sound of Cora's voice reaches his ears.

"-you weren't here. You couldn't be bothered to look at me. Because you've made it abundantly clear that my opinion means nothing to you and that I am too daft to hold a conversation with. Because I'm not ready to be the Dowager quite yet and I longed for a friend. You, my best friend, could not be bothered! I needed you to hear me and you couldn't be bothered."

Oh my dearest, he wants to say but holds his tongue. He is about to back out of the room when Lord Grantham's cold response reaches his ears.

"So that's a reason to let him fuck you."

Indignation floods him instantly and his fists ball. Simon might have been soundly beaten by the Earl the first time, but he is sure the rage that fills his veins will be enough to give him the edge now.

His face is hot, his skin prickling and his hand pushes the door just wide enough to see them across the empty room. They are a sad tableau, Lord Grantham seated lazily while Cora shimmers before him - a vision in pastels.

She stands open, her arms at her sides, vulnerable and so small in the wide space. Her face registers the same surprise that Simon feels when suddenly Lord Grantham is upon her, his large hands groping wildly at the parts of her he can reach.

The Earl kicks a chair and it tumbles with a hollow sound that echoes through the room. It does not stop him, though, and he continues to paw at his wife.

Simon feels distant as he watches, as though he isn't in his own body when Lord Grantham's lips chase down the pale slope of Cora's throat. He knows he should turn away but can't, when the older man drops to his knees and draws his wife's nightdress to her hips. Simon is afforded the merest glance of the heaven between her thighs when the older man buries his face there and Cora's own visage contorts.

I should not be here, he thinks, against his own arousal.

This is your fault.

Mr. Bricker, you must leave.

Instead, he watches her face. She is exactly as he had imagined, the small pearls of her teeth biting into her lips. Her lashes brush against her cheeks, eyes closed tight against the pleasure suffusing her. Even in the shadows he can tell she is flushed. Her fingers slide into the hair at the nape of her husband's neck and the rhythm of her body changes to something feral.

Mr. Bricker, you must leave.

He cannot. He watches in fascination as the Earl finally stands and clumsily turns his wife away from him.

There is a pause, a murmur, and Simon thinks perhaps Lord Grantham has come to his senses.

The writing desk creaks when the earl plunges into his wife and Cora's groan reaches through the haze.

Closing his eyes Simon turns away, his back to the door. He can only just hear them, the distant muffled movement of bodies and low cries.

"Mine."

"Yes."

"Mine."

"Yes."

He scrubs at his face, pinching his eyes, attempting to unsee the scene already unfolding once more before his lids.

Mr Bricker, you must leave.

He has no idea how long he's been standing there, the pain in his jaw long forgotten, the low thrum of arousal heavy between his thighs. He is lost in a fantasy of his own making, even as the sounds of passion in the library diminish and fall silent.

He needs a drink now more than ever and he is sure they have gone. Probably retired to bed together.

As they should, he thinks, but doesn't believe it.

He's halfway across the library when he realizes he isn't alone. Cora is still there, beside the writing desk, her face in her hands. He is relieved to see she is decent, her nightdress pulled fully over her and her cover wrapped haphazardly around her shoulders.

There is a moment before she hears him that he thinks of fleeing, but then the floor creaks beneath his feet and she turns to him.

The radiant mask of hope fractures when she registers his face and her shoulders slump even further.

It is not the first time he has been an unexpected intruder this night. This time, guilt licks at his belly.

Simon is not sure who he hates more in that moment. The Earl of Grantham or himself.

"I needed a drink." Simon says and the words are somewhat garbled. The ache in his jaw is a steady pain now, something he hadn't noticed until he tried to speak. With a grimace he fingers the sore spot and it's warm to the touch and swollen.

"Don't we all." Cora's pose is defeated.

"Cora-"

Her eyes, studying the swirls of the rug beneath her feet, whip to his. The ice he finds there is startling and he takes a step back.

"Lady Grantham." She says, and the room chills further.

"I..-Lady Grantham."

"You should sleep. I expect you will need to be on the road very early in the morning."

The soft woman she revealed to him on the streets of London is but a memory now, and she stands before him a Countess.

Perhaps wears only in a nightdress and perhaps the smell of sex still lingers in the air, but she is collected and cold and her words are firm.

"You will leave in the morning and you understand that you will never, ever come back."

"I'm sorry."

She chuckles but it is a humorless sound, very unlike the woman he believed to know.

"I was 20 years old when I first set my eyes on London. I was pretty, naive and very rich. I believed I would find a great love."

Her eyes are far away but he has the sense she knows it is him, in particular, she is speaking to. This is no ordinary reminiscence.

"It took exactly one season for me to realize I was something to be obtained. I was a prize - a fresh, low-hanging fruit to be plucked. Used. Discarded. It made me wiser, it made me more suspicious. I suppose it is only fitting that 35 years later I find I've lost that wisdom and suspicion."

She glances at him, finally, and her eyes are still cold.

"I suppose I should thank you for reminding me. Not everyone's intentions are honorable and, not matter how old I get, men will only look to me for what they can take."

"I didn't want to take anything from you." Simon says, and it is a lie. She arches a brow and he can feel himself wilt.

"You almost took this from me." She spreads her arms wide, looking over the room with a smile that was almost warm. "My life. My husband. For what?"

"I love you." He cannot believe he's said it. He cannot believe she is still staring at him coolly, wholly unaffected by his deep admission..

"I was 21 when Robert first told me he loved me and I agreed to marry him. It didn't take me long to realize it was a lie. A lie he wanted to believe, but a lie nonetheless." Her gaze shifts and she softens. "You might want to love me. You might even believe you do. However I do not love you. If you thought it, I am sorry. I am sorry, but you were mistaken."

"I wanted to save you." Had he really fancied himself a white knight, set to save the unhappy princess? Had he truly believed this place to be her ivory tower? He realizes how silly the notion is. Now. "I wanted you to be happy."

"I don't need saving." She considers. "And we create our own happiness. Robert and I. Sometimes we fall short of the ideal. But we are happy."

"Then I'm glad."

Cora laughs at that and the sound is more familiar, more reminiscent of the woman he believed to know. "I don't believe you, but I thank you for the sentiment nonetheless. Sleep well, Mr. Bricker."

She turns and leaves him, her confidence mostly restored. She walks gingerly but her head is high and her shoulders straight.

He hears what she doesn't say. He feels, now more than ever, that he is an interloper in this life of hers.

Mr. Bricker, you must leave.

(3/3)

So there you have it. It's all well and good that Robert got to beat the snot out of Bricker. But I thought Cora should have her say. She deserves to fight her own battles, as she is very very capable. I love love love the stoney look on Cora's face as Bricker leaves the house. She isn't wistful or sad - simply resolute. He put something precious of hers in jeopardy and I don't think she's the least bit amused.

Anyway - thanks for playing with me!