A/N: I really don't know what to say about this, other than that it's spawned from an amalgamation of lines, spoilers and speculation... I just have no idea what to say about it!

Um... SERIES 2 IS EPIC, though. And somehow, in my still emotionally WRECKED state, has produced this. Enjoy...! :)

Memory

For long enough, she'd paced restlessly up and down the morning room, and wandered aimlessly along the quiet corridors. For long enough, she'd wept over his photograph, until her tears had started to stain the image on his jacket and she locked it back into her bedside cabinet in horror, terrified that they would fall upon and blur his face, her last, precious keepsake of his face... For long enough, she'd prayed and cried and tossed and turned and paced and argued, until she was entirely sick of herself, let alone what anyone else must think of her.

Feeling utterly drained, she knew there was only one thing left for her to do to keep her from going entirely mad with worry. She picked up the novel that lay on her dresser and made her way through the house, and out of the door, making for the one place that might yet give her peace.

As she rounded the curve of the path, and passed the broad trunk of the lofty Cedar of Lebanon, to the bench that overlooked the rising hills of the estate, she halted in surprise to see Lavinia sitting there already. The young woman sat, motionless, staring out over the grounds with unseeing eyes. Mary's heart suddenly softened, and for a moment she forgot her own distress in a spate of pity. No matter her own personal feelings, Lavinia must be feeling it just as fiercely, or even more so – she had greater claim to, at least.

"Hello," Mary said cautiously, not wishing to startle her. They'd all been on tenterhooks this past week.

"Oh!" Lavinia jumped slightly as she turned, and saw Mary. "Hello." She attempted to smile, and Mary's heart went out to her.

She paused a moment before stepping closer.

"Would you mind if I joined you for a little while?" Though Lavinia was already there, it was still the only place that Mary wanted to be just now. And, not for the first time, she felt a sort of affinity to her. She alone knew how they both suffered from it (though she often wondered if Lavinia suspected), and they would sit together in silent understanding and comfort each other.

"No, please do," Lavinia replied distractedly; then laughed, the sound ringing strange in the terse air. "After all, it is your bench, your grounds! I really have no right to intrude."

"It certainly isn't mine! And never shall be – it shall be yours, in time to come!" Mary still wondered how she could say these things so freely, when they twisted her heart so. If it was what Matthew wanted...

"Shall it?" Again, the sharp, unnatural laugh. "Only if..."

"He will come back." Mary only wished she were as sure as she sounded, and without thinking grasped Lavinia's hand in a tight squeeze.

"You can't possibly know that. And every day it seems less likely." Her voice caught at the end, breaking upon the verge of wilfully held back tears.

"No, but we must believe it, Lavinia. What else can we do?" When the younger woman simply shrugged, her lips pressed tremblingly together, Mary took a deep breath and continued. "We've not – heard anything else, but, we mustn't give up hope. You know Matthew wouldn't want us to."

A deep, gathering sigh before she could speak again. "I suppose you're right. It's just so hard, imagining all the things that might've –"

"Then don't!" Mary snapped briskly, knowing full well that she was just as guilty of imagining the worst as Lavinia. She quickly determined that the best thing to do, in the face of it, was to distract the young woman's thoughts. She had brought her novel out, but Lavinia had clearly wandered here with nothing. Gently, she grasped her hand a little tighter. "If you don't mind me asking, what brings you here, of all places?"

Lavinia turned to her, then, and smiled.

"You'll think it's terribly silly," she chuckled softly.

"Ah, life would be dreadfully dull without a little silliness – and I'm sure it is not."

"Well..." Lavinia's eyes drifted down to her hand, her gaze lingering on the delicate ring upon her finger. "Do you remember the first time Matthew brought me here?"

"Yes, I do." Of course she did! How could she forget? It... lived in her memory, as fresh as the day he had walked back into her life. She had not understood those words, when he had first said them to her... Now their meaning was painfully clear, the clarity of the memory making her ache afresh every day. It had gotten easier, each time he (they) came, but she could never forget the sharpness of her distress, relief, love, sorrow, that first time she had seen him again.

Lavinia smiled gently. "On the one day he had really free, he – took me to all the places he said he liked the most. So that I could have some memory of him there." Tears filled her eyes as she desperately tried to believe that those memories would not be all she had left.

"Oh?" Mary's heart panged sharply at the memory of Matthew telling her it, and she took a deep, calming breath, clutching Lavinia's hand unconsciously tighter.

"It seemed a little strange to me, I suppose, but – he said this was his favourite place. This bench, this view, in front of the house..."

"Here," he'd said emphatically, standing in front of the bench and holding his arms out grandly.

"Here?" Lavinia had laughed, wondering if he'd been more affected by the war than she'd thought.

Matthew had smiled, taken her hand, and shrugged. "Yes, here."

"Matthew..." She'd chuckled, resting her free hand softly on his arm and running it up as she'd moved a little closer to him. "Of all the grand, beautiful places around this house, this village... Your favourite place, the place you like the very most in the world, is a bench?"

"Yes!" He'd placed a swift, affectionate kiss to her cheek before seating himself, tugging her down next to him. It had made her giggle softly, and he'd liked that.

Once his arm was rested snug around her shoulders, he'd looked out wistfully over the grounds ahead.

"I know it's not very grand, or very beautiful."Lavinia had tutted softly and placed a hand on his knee, which he'd covered with his own."But I have a lot of happy memories of this place." His lips had pressed into a tender smile, and Lavinia could see that the memories were flowing through his mind. "And," he'd eventually said, "now you can give me another."

Lavinia's breath had snatched away when he'd turned to look at her. His eyes shone, and it truly was the happiest she thought she'd seen him, excepting when she had accepted to marry him. He'd smiled at her, piercing her with that deep, blue gaze, she'd felt his fingers entwine with hers upon his knee. Together, they'd looked down at where their hands joined, and the ring on her finger, and in that moment they were perfectly happy.

Matthew had felt elated. He wouldn't have been able to do this, bring her here and share this place with her that was so special to him, if things had not gone so well with Mary the night before. He'd known – yes, he'd known – that his memories of this place were largely to do with her. He'd wondered if he should feel guilty, but after they had gotten on so well at the concert, he'd been able for the first time to look back upon the times they'd shared here with fondness – yes, even the arguments, because that had been such a part of Mary and he. And now there was Lavinia, and… it didn't seem to matter any more. To him, this place was Downton, and it was special to him, and he'd wanted to share it with her. Because, he'd realised, happy memories were the dearest thing he had to cling to.

"Oh! Here, really? What a strange choice!" Mary realised she was trembling a little, as a strange… happiness filtered slowly through her. This, here, was… the place he liked the most?

"I admit, I thought so too!" Lavinia smiled. "But he obviously had many happy times here, and… well, I thought it might make me feel better to sit here, somehow."

"Yes, so did I," Mary breathed unconsciously. A brief frown flitted across Lavinia's face, not quite understanding what Mary meant, and not wanting to think about it too deeply. Mary's history with her fiancé was not beyond her knowledge, but it did not trouble her – and for now, she was content to accept the comfort and understanding that Mary was offering her.

Mary's mind, however, was no longer concerned with comforting the fiancée of the man she loved, though she continued to reassuringly squeeze her hand as they sat in contemplative silence. Of all the places… Matthew had been happy here. Though it could never be confirmed (and she would certainly never ask him to, should he be recovered alive…), she knew, she knew that the memories he had of here concerned her. Whether he loved her, still, or not… She, and what they had shared, was still special to him. For the first time since they'd received news he was missing, she felt almost at peace.

Gazing out across the view, she thought of him, and wondered, prayed, hoped… believed that he must be alive.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking… Hours, days? It seemed a lifetime ago since he'd woken; dazed, confused, mind fogged with pain and noise and smoke… He had no idea where they were, where anyone else was, surely they must find some of the unit somewhere nearby…

Staggering across the pitted landscape, he saw a line of trees. At least they'd be safe there, under cover… He groaned and spurred himself on, dragging deep from his last reserves of energy though everything hurt, everything. It was only adrenaline now that kept him from falling.

His head swam with pain and exhaustion, and he imagined he must be becoming delirious as in front of him, the trees seemed to change… They spread, grew, transformed from charred skeletons to leafy Cedars, so familiar, and he felt drawn to them. He must get there… He must.

Finally, finally, he reached them and sank with a low grunt of pain to his knees, heaving William's heavy form off his shoulders. He'd needed to support him at first, but the poor man had been so weakened that eventually Matthew had carried him on his shoulders, unwilling to lose him, his last hold on reality and all that he knew… But as the former footman's head lolled back, Matthew saw that he'd already lost him. He clenched his fists upon William's still chest and cried out, a long, raw, dry yell that turned into a sob, but his body protested against the strain on his parched throat and he threw up the pitiful bile from his empty, ragged stomach.

Twisting, he sank back against the trunk of the tree, gasping for air, hoarse breaths from his tired lungs. Tears fell down his cheeks, mingling with and stalling on the caked blood, and all the other unmentionable substances dried there he didn't care to think of. Tired… His leg was a mess, he saw now, bloodied and torn and painful, so, so painful… God only knew what more damage he had done moving on it, but it was only now he had stopped that the pain seared through him like fire, forcing him to grit his teeth against the low moan gasping from his throat.

His vision began to blur, the adrenaline waning, replaced by exhaustion, agony, resignation. With the last vestiges of consciousness, he forced himself to do what he'd always promised himself, and sought desperately for any happy memory he could pluck from his pain-addled mind. Threads of memory, feeling, people, flitted back and forth and he grasped at them. As his unfocussed eyes gazed out in front of him, the landscape seemed to shift, and change, and rise, and began to seem strangely familiar.

He smiled, weakly, parched lips cracking. Beside him was a woman… though he couldn't place who. Dark or fair, beautiful or pretty, arousing or comforting… He wasn't sure it mattered, she was there… He reached out to her, not realising that his hand lay on the lifeless body of William, but fantasising upon the phantom woman, who made him happy… Happy. He felt wooden slats under him, felt her next to him, saw the estate around him and he was happy…

As he allowed himself to sink into the peace and the blackness, his pain fading gradually, he barely even registered the distant shouts of 'Look! Over there,' or the small toy dog, clutched fiercely in his hand.

Fin

A/N: Thank you for reading! Sorry if this was just immensely weird. I'd love to know what you thought, I really have no idea what to think of it myself LOL! Happy Monday, Happy Post-Downton Day and here's looking forward to next Sunday! Thank you! :)