A/N: I randomly got an idea for a one-shot this morning (I had the day off work), and this happened. It's an idea that has been done before but I felt the need to write my version of it, so hopefully there is something in here that will keep your interest! It's quite bittersweet.
Just bear in mind that there may be some historical inaccuracies etc (I won't tell you what they could be in case you don't notice!), but hopefully nothing that seems really wrong...xxx
...
Crawley House was still shrouded in darkness, gradually growing dampened by the persistent rain and wind that beat against its old walls. Inside, the shrill sound of an alarm clock pierced the quiet, early morning air. Matthew quickly reached an arm out to halt the noise. He sighed. It was 4am. His leave had officially come to an end and it was time to return to the front. Of course, this was a horrifying prospect and he never got used to the idea of returning to the carnage and misery. Yet, there was something that was playing on his mind even more than this, something that had disturbed his sleep and caused a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach: his wife wasn't speaking to him.
He glanced over to his left where she lay, able to make out her outline by the low lamp that he'd left burning as he knew he'd be awaking before sunrise. Her back was to him and she hadn't moved in the few moments since the alarm sounded. This was the first time since their wedding that he hadn't fallen asleep with her head resting on his chest and woken up with her wrapped in his arms. This was also the first time that she hadn't woken up with him as he got ready to travel to the train station. It wasn't that he doubted her regret over him leaving - he knew that she'd miss him dearly - but he also knew how stubborn she was and she would be determined to hammer her point home, even if it meant ignoring him. He just hoped that her strong-headedness would crack momentarily and allow him to bid her farewell.
With another sigh, he slid out of the bed and moved to the bathroom, where he'd have to draw his own bath; he'd given Molesley the morning off, thinking that he and Mary could spend his last couple of hours at home alone together. He was torn between making the most of the warm, cleansing bath, as he didn't know when his next one would be, and deeming the entire exercise futile given that he'd most likely be caked in mud and blood within twenty-four hours. After drying himself off, he began the laborious process of dressing himself in his uniform. In Molesley's absence, Mary usually assisted him with the various buttons and buckles, having grown accustomed to them on the occasions that she'd undone them upon his return home, but now he was left to negotiate the fastenings on his own.
After double-checking that Molesley had packed everything he needed, and triple-checking that he had a pile of Mary's letters and a small vial of her perfume, along with one of their precious wedding photographs, he stepped out of his dressing room and cautiously re-entered the bedroom. Mary was in the same position as when he'd left her, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. Despite her appearances, Matthew knew that she wasn't asleep. There was no way that she'd have slept through the din of the alarm clock; besides, she never slept well the night after an argument. Not that they'd had many chances to argue over the last ten months, he thought sadly. Nobody could have predicted the outbreak of a great war just one month after their wedding. Those first four weeks of marriage had been nothing short of blissful, and he'd walked around the village with a smile permanently plastered to his face as he contemplated spending the rest of his life in such happiness. That time seemed so long ago, now - the intervening months had brought troubling uncertainty and fear into their lives, never knowing when, or if, they'd next see each other. It had been a struggle for Matthew to balance his duty to his men and country, and to fight for a cause that he fiercely believed in, with his unending love and devotion to his darling wife, who was waiting and fretting over him at home. She'd begged him not to be the hero, not to act rashly.
That had been the source of their argument last night. She'd insisted that, now that he had been promoted to Captain, he was entitled to restrict his role to simply giving orders to the lower-ranking soldiers, and that there was no need for him to place himself in any danger. Such an attitude had only angered Matthew - he would never show that kind of disloyalty and selfishness to his men. How could he ask dozens, hundreds of men to sacrifice their lives while he sat on the sidelines in his pristine uniform? She'd become upset by his resistance and accused him of not loving her enough to want to return to her. This had only irked Matthew further. Amidst the tumult and earth-shattering nature of war, there was only one thing that he was sure of, and that was that he was desperately in love with Mary Crawley. To hear anyone, especially her, denounce that truth was maddening. The argument had gone round in circles until Mary had stormed upstairs in tears. Knowing better than to run after her when she obviously didn't want to speak to him, Matthew had decided it would be best to remain downstairs and perhaps take a glass of whiskey to settle his own nerves. He couldn't resist, however, climbing into their bed during the night. The thought of sleeping apart from her when he had the opportunity to lie next to her didn't bear thinking about - he remembered all too clearly how badly he missed her on those cold nights in the trenches, wishing that he could be in their bed.
But now he had to part from her again, and it broke his heart to leave her on bad terms. He was sure she wouldn't stay angry at him for long and would soon write to him to make amends, but he'd quickly learned that, as precious as they were to him, letters never equalled her physical presence.
He tiptoed over to the bed and slowly crouched down beside her. Her hair slightly obscured her face - her beautiful face - and he carefully brushed it away, trailing a finger down her porcelain skin. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and then on the tip of her nose - it was a small, affectionate habit that he'd developed and it provided him with some comfort, a sense of normalcy in an otherwise depressing situation. Standing back up, he took one last look at her, once again committing all of her pretty features to memory, before reluctantly turning to leave. He didn't notice her eyes flutter open as he closed the door behind him.
The walk to the train station felt long. He tried to push out the thoughts reminding him that this could be his final walk through the village, and that he may have already laid eyes on his wife for the last time. He took his time meandering through the streets; the sun was only just beginning to rise and a few workers were appearing outside. He watched them, wondering whether they had ever felt the way he did now.
He had factored time into the morning for saying his goodbyes to Mary, which in the past had seemed to take a while, meaning that the train wasn't even at the platform when he arrived there. Spotting a small seat to the side of the platform, he walked over and sat down, deciding he could re-read a couple of Mary's letters in lieu of speaking to her. She had a beautiful way of writing that made him feel as if she was talking to him - he could hear her voice in his head, crystal clear, and could immediately sense her tone.
The sound of her amused voice running through his head, recounting an incident wherein Isis knocked a teapot over onto Violet's silk gown, was interrupted by quick footsteps on the hard stone of the platform. Looking up, Matthew was startled to see Mary there. She was dressed, although not as neatly as she usually was. She seemed worried, casting looks up and down the track as if searching for the train. After a few short moments she paused, and even from ae distance Matthew could see her lips start to tremble and her eyes water. She was about to cry!
Practically leaping up from his seat and forgetting to take his bags with him, Matthew ran over to her. "Mary!" He called.
She spun round and relief washed over her face. "Matthew, you're still here!" She dashed to meet him and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him to her ferociously. "I thought you'd already left." She sniffed into his shoulder.
"No, I'm still here, darling." Matthew soothed, stroking one hand over her back while the other gently massaged the base of her neck. He felt her body shake with sobs against his. "Why are you upset?" He asked softly.
"I could have missed you - you could have left without me saying goodbye to you and it would have been all my fault. I'm so stupid." Her breath was coming out in spurts through her tears.
"Shh, it's alright, you didn't miss me." Matthew tightened his arms around her and buried his nose against her neck. He was beyond glad to see her, to know that he wasn't going to have to go back to the front worrying whether she was still angry with him. He reached his hands up to her arms, which were still locked around his neck, and slowly prised them away so that he could step back and look at her properly. Her eyes were red and her cheeks covered with tears. He bent his head and began kissing them away. "You look an absolute state, darling." He teased her fondly, playing with the many loose wisps of hair escaping the loose bun that she had tucked under her hat.
Mary smiled in spite of herself. "I know, but I decided to forgo looking like a Captain's wife in favour of seeing my husband before he went away." She lovingly caressed his cheek.
"I'm glad you did." Matthew smiled back, turning his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. She'd not even bothered to wear her gloves and her coat was insufficient for the cold morning. He undid the buttons on his greatcoat and invited her to slide her arms underneath, which she did, and he wrapped the coat around her as much as he could.
"Thank you." Mary smiled gratefully, before pausing to think. "I'm sorry for arguing with you on your last night at home." She said eventually.
"So you're sorry for the timing of the argument but not for the argument itself?" Matthew raised an eyebrow, amused by her limited apology.
"Well, yes. I stand by what I said, Matthew." Mary said seriously. "But I shouldn't have quarrelled with you about it so much. I suppose you know more about your role than I do, anyway." She shrugged.
It was true - Matthew concealed from her much of what went on in the war, deliberately. It would only frighten her, and God knew she didn't need anything else to worry over, plus she would never be able to understand what it was really like. Matthew sometimes envied her for that. He understood with terrifying clarity what circumstances were like on the front, and he frequently wished that his mind could be erased of that knowledge.
"I can't help but fear for you, that's all." Mary continued quietly. "And it doesn't seem fair that you've only been on leave twice so far because you're expected to take on more responsibilities."
"That's what happens when people climb up through the ranks - they must play a bigger part."
"But that's not fair!" Mary's voice began to waver again. "There's a woman in the village - Sarah Thomson, or something like that - and her husband has been sent home four times already. Why does she get to see her husband more than I get to see mine? She can't love him more than I love you!"
"Mary, please stop." Matthew said quietly, cupping her face with his hands to stem the tears which threatened to spill again. "That's not how it works. We don't know what Mr Thomson's situation is but we do know that I have my own duties to fulfil and they require me to be away from home a lot."
"But maybe you could come home more often if you asked?" Mary suggested earnestly, and Matthew felt his heart break a little. If asking permission to go home every now and then would make any difference at all, then he would have already done it. The reality was, though, that his presence on the front, directing the troops and boosting morale, was needed in the army's efforts to accelerate the end of the war.
He dropped a small kiss on her lips. "Wouldn't you rather I was away for a year if it meant that I could come back permanently once that year was over? Rather than coming and going every few months for a longer period of time?"
Mary frowned as she fidgeted with the buckle on his large belt. "I can't stop thinking about something happening to you - and by the time I hear about it it could be seven or eight months since I last saw you. And you seem to change so much as the war goes on - I wouldn't even know what you looked like anymore!" She began to cry again.
"Mary, you cannot think about these things." Matthew said as firmly as he could. These thoughts plagued his mind too; he had visions of dying in a ditch somewhere in the middle of France at the hands of a stranger, with Mary nowhere nearby to cradle him as he took his final breaths. It made him feel sick and he didn't want Mary to harbour these worries too.
"I can't live without you, Matthew." She whimpered, burying her head against his chest.
Matthew hushed her as she broke down in tears against him. He rocked her gently from side to side, kissing her hairline and rubbing her back in a steady rhythm to calm her down. "I need you to stay strong for me." He could feel his own resolve breaking and he didn't want them to part on such a sorrowful note. There was no point - it wouldn't change anything. "Honestly, my love, I think you're worrying about this even more than I am." Matthew whispered after a little while, in an attempt to alleviate her mood. He felt her sobs gradually subside. "Our mothers will be at loggerheads over redecorating Crawley House and I'm afraid that'll be the greatest war of all." He joked, delighted to hear Mary laugh a little.
"I just don't want you to feel like you have to take risks." Mary reiterated, standing up straight to look at him.
"My darling, this entire war is a risk." Matthew explained gently. "And I can't give orders and come home while my men act on them - I need to join with them too. They are men just like me-"
"They are not men just like you - you're married and you're an heir to an Earldom!" Mary insisted.
"Mary, nobody gives a damn about Earldoms over there." Matthew blurted out, then kissed her cheek in apology for his language. "So many of those men have wives, and children, or mothers whom they need to look after. I'm not fighting because I don't have anyone at home to come back to - I'm fighting because I understand exactly what it is that we're fighting for. It's so men like me can be free to live the rest of their life with their loved ones, in peace. Isn't that what you want, after all?" He asked, tenderly wiping away a stray tear from her soft cheek.
Mary sniffed and her brow creased in a petulant frown. "You're infuriatingly wise, Matthew Crawley."
Matthew chuckled and slid his arms around her waist. Thankfully it was so early in the morning that the platform was still quiet even though the train had now arrived, but he wouldn't have cared even if it had been overflowing with people. "I know you asked me last night to promise that I'll come back to you unscathed, but I don't want to make you a promise that I can't keep. So instead I'll promise that I'll write to you every moment that I can, that I'll always be thinking of you, and that I'll love and miss you more with each day that passes."
Mary smiled up at him. "I promise the same things."
"I also promise to kiss you very soundly before this train leaves." Matthew smirked, prompting a delightful laugh from Mary.
"Before you distract me with that," Mary said, pulling back from him slightly to reach into her pocket, "I got you something." She pulled out a small bundle of something wrapped in a white cloth.
"What's this for?" Matthew asked, his eyes lit up. Any little gift from Mary that he could take back with him to the front would ease the burden.
"Well, it'll be our first wedding anniversary soon," Mary explained shyly, "and I know you probably won't be able to make it back until after then. So I wanted to give you a small gift."
Matthew's heart swelled. "Oh, Mary, darling, I didn't even think to get you anything!" He fondled the small package in his gloved hand, already eager to discover what it was.
"It's alright, I have all the home comforts that I could ever need here - aside from you, of course - whereas you hardly have anything, so it would be silly for you to give me a present." Mary assured him.
"Yes, but you are still my wife and it is still an important landmark." Matthew argued, feeling terribly guilty that he had forgotten about the impending anniversary. He supposed that his mind had been so full of thoughts of the war and wondering when he could next see Mary that everything else - birthdays, anniversaries, holidays - seemed insignificant.
"Excuse me, Captain Crawley, but the train is about to depart." A young boy who worked at the station approached them cautiously, clearly intimidated by the refined elegance and stature of the young couple.
"Thank you - please just give me another moment." Matthew said kindly. The boy nodded and scuttled off to speak to the driver. "I need to go and fetch my bags, I'll be back in a second." Matthew gestured to the chair where he was seated.
"Ask the boy to fetch them for you." Mary said simply. "You're a Captain, it's ridiculous enough that you dressed yourself this morning and walked over here on your own."
Matthew playfully rolled his eyes at her. "I am no better than any other man and I'm sure that boy has many other things to do. You need to stop placing me on a pedestal." He smiled, kissing her cheek. She really did make him feel like the luckiest, most special man on the planet, and the depth of her love kept him going during those bleak moments of despair in the trenches.
He quickly went to retrieve his bags, not wanting to detract any more time from saying his goodbyes to Mary than was absolutely necessary. It suddenly occurred to him that she would have to travel back home alone, to their empty house; thankfully she seemed to have calmed down a bit, otherwise it would have been unbearable to leave her behind when she was so distraught.
The boy promptly appeared in front of him to load his bags into the carriage, just as the platform attendant signalled for all the passengers to board. "I suppose I should go, then." Matthew said with a small smile.
"I suppose so." Mary took a deep breath and reached up to tuck a few of his stray hairs back into place. She spent a few moments fussing over him like this, straightening his cap and brushing specks of fluff off his coat, and he happily let her. "You will let me know if you want me to send anything, won't you? I'm sure you're holding back on requesting things and you shouldn't - it'll give me something to do, plus I like looking after you." She said.
Matthew nodded to placate her. He didn't want to explain that, when your hair is matted with several men's blood and your living quarters is teeming with infected rats, the quality of your socks is the last thing on your mind.
"Write to me as soon as you get there?" She asked.
"Only if you promise to write back." Matthew smirked. He bent down and kissed her deeply, taking her lips between his over and over again, his hands gripping her and pulling her close. It was as if she was his elixir of strength and he needed to consume as much as he could before he left.
After a while, and another whistle from the platform attendant, they reluctantly tore themselves apart.
"I love you so much." Mary murmured. "Look after yourself."
"I love you too." Matthew replied, raising her hands to his lips for a reverent kiss. With one last look at her, he turned to mount the train. He wasn't sure if he could handle glance through the carriage window as the train pulled away, watching her fade into the distance, but he decided that seeing her would always be preferable to not seeing her.
The train's engine began working and the slow motions of the wheels moved him forward. He blew her a kiss, which she returned. Her figure grew smaller and smaller, until he could no longer make out her features and she was just a speck on the platform. Sitting back, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes.
War is a terrible thing, he thought. It breaks one whole into two halves, with no promise of a reunion.
...
A/N: so there we are. I've left it open-ended but obviously in my head he is fine and they get reunited very quickly! Anyway, let me know your thoughts and if you have any other ideas for period-set fics, as I'm starting to get a taste for writing them! xxx