AN: So, this story was meant to be a one-shot because I didn't think I had time for a full-fledged, multi-chapter fic right now, but then it got out of control and I think I'm looking at something like 4-6 chapters. Oh well. It's luck I like these two. ;-)

This first chapter is sort of a prologue/frame story for the precanon story I'll be telling...just a bit of fluff that reminds Robert of earlier events. Also, it's precisely how sweetly inept, but concerned, I imagine Robert to be when Cora's sick (you know, when he's not making out with a maid in the next room).

"Are you certain that's the right bottle, my lord?" Robert heard Miss Baxter ask as she put the last of the linens in the armoire drawer.

"Of course I am." Actually he wasn't certain about any of this, but he wasn't about to admit it to his wife's maid.

Cora had gone to bed earlier that day with a bad cold, and he had been flitting in and out of her room for hours, trying his hand at nursing—a task at which he'd always been most inept. His wife had urged him multiple times to "let Baxter do this, dear," and he suspected the maid had been subtly managing him all day.

"I beg your pardon, my lord, but I am certain as well. That's the day medication you're holding. If her ladyship takes that now, she'll be awake half the night."

"Quite right, quite right," he said quickly, as though he'd known all along. "We don't want that."

Cora coughed. "Dearest, I think we ought to let Baxter handle the medicines."

"Yes, of course," he said, setting the bottle down. "Yes, we'll let Miss Baxter handle that."

"Has she still got a fever, my lord?" Baxter asked.

A fever? How was he supposed to know that? He glanced at the bedside table and saw no thermometer. Rather haphazardly, he held his hand to Cora's forehead, as he had seen her do with the children. This told him nothing.

"Is she warm, sir?" Baxter prompted.

Well, of course she was warm. People were always warm if they weren't dead. The question was, how much warmer did one feel if one had a fever?

"Perhaps…" he began hesitantly.

"Robert, please just let Baxter do this."

"Right, of course," he said, reading his wife's irritation and backing away.

Baxter stepped into his place beside the bed immediately, smoothing Cora's hair and laying her hand against her forehead. "Yes, I thought you'd still be feverish, my lady," she said softly. And then she began to go on, her voice still quiet and soothing, about whether her ladyship would like a bowl of soup for dinner, or perhaps a cup of hot tea for her throat, and was she quite warm enough, with only the one blanket? She didn't want her too warm, either…

Robert crept out of the room, sensing that this was all quite beyond him.

Immediately after dinner, Robert dressed for bed and returned to Cora's room, thinking he ought to make an early night of it so that she would as well.

"How are you?" he asked, bending to kiss her cheek, but she turned her face away so that he got her hair instead.

"Don't, Robert," she croaked. "You'll catch this. And I feel absolutely rotten." She paused. "Will you turn the lights out? If you're ready for bed yourself, I might as well try to sleep."

He did as she asked, shed his dressing gown, and climbed in next to Cora.

"You can't sleep here! You'll be sick in a few days yourself if you do."

Robert had predicted that response. He ignored her and continued to settle under the covers.

"Go sleep in your dressing room," she continued hoarsely. "I mean it, Robert."

He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her back against his chest. She would sleep easier this way, he knew.

"Robert! If you're going to sleep in here, you certainly shouldn't be so close to me!"

"Oh, come now," he whispered, "surely you don't want me to have Baxter do this part of the nursing as well?"

She giggled, her laughter turning into a cough, and he slowly rubbed up and down her arm, trying to soothe her.

"Well, you do make a pretty terrible nurse," she said when she had caught her breath, "but I'll admit you're not nearly so bad at cuddling."

"Thank you, my dear." He squeezed her waist lightly and kissed the back of her head. She sighed, and he could feel her relaxing in his arms.

"Cora," he said after a moment, "do you know what this reminds—"

"Robert, the first rule of nursing is you don't talk at the patient while she's trying to sleep."

"Right. Sorry."

Another moment passed, and then she said sleepily, "But yes, I'm probably thinking of the same night you are."