#the way i’d leave anyone who had anything disparaging to say about my knitting in the fucking dust

[fingertipsmp3]

I wish the phrase “waste of space” wasn’t so overused because it’s honestly the perfect insult. The implications behind it. ‘We could’ve put a cushion on that chair instead of him’

[ohtobealady]

I enjoy your Cobert drabbles a lot! Also, the one with Cora and Violet was lovely <3 Could you do "Is there something you're holding back from me?" for Cora/Violet?

I hope you enjoy this! I cheated a bit and changed the prompt only slightly, but hopefully there’s something there that you like :) thank you so much for the request and I apologize it’s taken me so long to get to it!

—//—//—//—//—//—

“Hello, Mama!”

Violet lifted her eyes at the sound of her daughter-in-law’s voice. Cora walked in, past Spratt and straight to her, pressing her soft cheek against Violet’s own. Violet heard her kiss the air beside her ear. She had always had that way about her, Cora; she had the ability to make one feel cared for more than anything else. Of course, Violet had learned over the years she’d known Cora, it was just her way. There was nothing pretend in it.

“It must be cold out.” It was an automatic reply, an instant mumble, and Cora drew back from her, touching the back of her gloved fingers against her cheek.

“Oh, I am sorry. I’ve hardly had time to notice! I’ve been so busy.” She smiled at Spratt who offered to take her coat, and she began to maneuver her slender form from it. “Where is everyone?”

Violet lifted her brows as she stood. She had not invited anyone else. There was no need. “Everyone?”

Cora looked about the room. “Mary? Or Isobel?”

Violet shook her head as a reply, and waved her hand toward the waiting tea table. “Thank you, Spratt.” Her butler took his leave, and Violet waited until Cora took a seat before sitting down herself.

“No,” she unfolded her napkin and smoothed it over her lap. She couldn’t bring her eyes up to Cora, which in and of itself was a strange sensation. “It will just be us two.”

She heard the characteristic, little oh escape her son’s wife’s lips. The little noises that meant she was grateful and yet embarrassed.

“That’s nice, Mama.” Cora mimicked Violet’s own movements and unfolded her napkin. “I can’t recall the last time you and I had tea.”

Violet could not either. When was it? During the war? Before? Surely not. An image of her daughter-in-law from nearly fifteen years before, glowing and blushing deeply as she announced she was pregnant again, slowly came to Violet’s mind’s eye, and she had to feign a smile.

She looked up. “Years, I should think. We haven’t had the time.”

Violet appreciated Cora’s laugh, in spite of herself.

“Well then we mustn’t let it get cold!” Cora smiled broadly and reached for the teapot.

But Violet didn’t want silence. Not yet. “How is Edith? And the baby?”

The question elicited the response she fully expected from Cora, twinkling and gushing and all light.

“Oh, wonderful. Bertie rang early this morning, though Edith was resting. I hate that I wasn’t there with her!”

“And the name?”

Cora’s features warmed over, and she grinned. “Lord Edwin Peter Robert Herbert, Earl of Burwick.” Violet watched as she now stirred the sugar into her teacup. Violet realized Cora had remembered how much sugar Violet took in her tea. “They’re going to call him Eddie.”

She exhaled. “Rather anticlimactic.”

“Robert is thrilled,” Cora, naturally, hadn’t heard. She shook her head, her smile growing the more she spoke. “Another grandson. And of course he insists that if the baby had been named anything else he would be equally as elated, though I’m not so sure.”

“No,” Violet could only echo.

She watched the woman across from her for a moment longer, the way her long fingers picked up her teacup now. And then the way they chose a sandwich. She watched as the rings her son had given Cora all those years ago still shimmered on her finger, and her chest clinched.

She had not been kind to her. Fair and helpful, yes. Firm, but with a certain fondness, perhaps. But Violet had not been kind, and she was ashamed to admit why. A second unfamiliar sensation in the space of only a half hour.

“Tom is training up there today, ahead of everyone. Though I expect he’ll stop in to see Lucy.”

Violet nodded. “Yes, I’d imagine so. Being that she is his fiancée.”

Cora’s smile faltered, slightly, but she nodded. “She’s a sweet girl.” And then a shift, another recognizable trait of Cora’s: a shake of her head, a placement of her hands into her lap, and a raised brow. “Heigh-ho. And time keeps marching on!” She managed another close-lipped smile, and Violet agreed.

“It does, indeed.” And now the difficult part. Violet chose a small piece of cake and placed it on her saucer. “Though I dare say you’re quite practiced at marching along. Both you and Robert.”

She could sense Cora’s immediate confusion at the small compliment, but it was only for a moment. “Yes. Well … we don’t have much choice.”

“We always have choices, my dear. Especially when it comes to the certainties of life.” Violet lifted her cup, but brought her eyes to her daughter-in-law. “And you have always seemingly chosen well. Robert quite relies on you.”

Cora shook her head, her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure he —“

“— My dear, it is not to be disparaging. No. It is meant sincerely.” Violet had caught her attention. Both teacups had slowly lowered themselves to the table. She continued, “Lord Grantham and I cared for one another. Perhaps even deeply in some moments. And when he died I felt the loss, very keenly.”

Violet watched as Cora lowered her chin and then brought it up again. Of course she knew all this — Cora had been there. She’d known him, known them, was there the moment he died. Violet vividly recalled how, thirty-three years ago, Cora’s long fingers had held Robert’s tightly; she recalled a scene she had not meant to see: Robert sobbing into his wife’s embrace. His wife shushing him gently, kissing his face. It had hurt then. It hurt now.

“But he was not the great constant of my life. Not the way you are for Robert. Not the way he relies on you to help him through the changes of life, those certainties we all must face, the … marching of time.”

Cora’s eyes were trained upon her, and Violet looked away, into the tea that had become cold.

“Mama?” Her voice was quiet. “Is there something …” and her quiet voice trailed away.

When Violet looked back at her, Cora’s eyes were brighter, but not from joy. She blinked. She knitted her brow.

“Thank you, Cora. Thank you for saving this estate,” and here, Violet had to take a breath, “and for continuing to save Robert.”