A/N: Hello, again! Before we begin this new journey, I'd like to thank everyone who stuck with me though LOAT and for all the wonderful support. You guys are all amazing. :)

A Love to Lean On

Chapter 1

"She was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair..."

Mary turned her face into her husband's warm neck as the smooth caress of his voice washed over her. She hooked her leg over his hips and shuffled closer, already missing the sweet press of his firm body against hers as they lay side by side in post-coital bliss. Matthew's fingers traced the long line of her spine hypnotically up and down as he read, his hand slipping easily over her sweat-slicked skin.

"The reason firm, the temperate will,

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect Woman, nobly planned,

To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light."

"Angelic? Really, Matthew," she protested playfully as she pushed herself up on one elbow, snatching the book from his hand. She tossed it aside, wishing both his hands free to hold her close.

Matthew chuckled, ignoring her comment as he placed his now free hand on her smooth hip. "Mr. Wordsworth's words were meant for a woman such as you."

"As were Mr. Keates', Mr. Shakespeare's, and Lord Byron's," Mary retorted playfully.

"All the great poets dreamt of a woman like you, my darling. Strong, beautiful...captivating."

Mary shook her head slightly, still mildly uncomfortable with Matthew's high opinion of her, and silenced him with a firm, but brief, kiss. "Darling, I should probably caution you against placing me on so high a pedestal. I'm afraid it would be an awfully rough landing should I ever fall from it."

"Never," Matthew retorted, pulling her down for another kiss.

The next morning found the couple bidding a fond farewell to the inhabitants of Downton Abbey as their luggage was loaded into the car.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to phone," Robert admonished as he leaned down to kiss his daughter's soft cheek.

"We will. Thank you, Robert," Matthew answered, awkwardly switching his grip on his stick over to his left hand to accept a parting handshake from his father-in-law.

"Best of luck to you, my son. I hope your therapy is successful and you're running and dancing again by the time you return."

"I don't know about running or dancing, but I'm hopeful that I'll at least be able to get rid of this stick."

"But you look so distinguished with your stick," Mary interjected, looping her arm through Matthew's. "Time to go, darling."

After accepting goodbyes and well wishes from the remainder of the family, Mary helped Matthew slide awkwardly into the back seat before climbing in after him. She slipped her hand into his as Branson shut the door behind them and took his seat at the wheel. As they started down the gravel drive, Matthew sighed heavily, turning to smile uncertainly at Mary. He hadn't traveled any further than Crawley House since arriving at Downton at the beginning of his convalescence, and he couldn't shake the worry that nagged at him. If his back gave out before they arrived at Grantham House in London and Mary was forced to seek assistance for him, he'd simply die of mortification. Not to mention, he hated to be a burden on his caring wife.

"I told your mother we'd stop by on our way to the station," Mary spoke cooly, her own countenance betraying no semblance of worry or misgiving whatsoever.

"That was very thoughtful of you, Mary." Matthew's smile turned adoring as he fought back the urge to kiss her then and there, chauffeur be damned.

"Well, Isobel has been nothing but encouraging and supportive since you returned from the front, and I knew you'd want to say goodbye to your mother before being away for so long," Mary explained matter-of-factly, deflecting Matthew's compliment.

"Three whole months," he sighed. "I'm going to miss the family awfully much."

"I know. And poor little Puck will be simply beside himself wondering where you've gone."

Matthew chuckled and squeezed her hand.

"I'll miss him too. But, of course, he's got Isis to keep him company, and Robert. They both adore him and will spoil him excessively, I'm sure."

"Probably so." Mary laughed softly, and her eyes turned to the passing scenery.

Though the air was still a bit chilled, the countryside was beginning to return to life as winter faded away and spring began to show its vibrant green hues. They had passed a lovely Christmastide with the family, celebrating the end of the war and all that they had to be thankful for. The New Year came with a flurry of clean, white snow, bringing with it a thrill of anticipation that touch all the Abbey's inhabitants. With the horror of the war finally behind them and Matthew well on his way to recovery, life seemed to have possibilities again. Hope had returned to Downton Abbey.

After a bit of a debate, Robert and Cora had decided to reinstate the tradition of the Servants' Ball that year, though the recent end of the war demanded it be kept a simple affair. Matthew had seated himself beside his mother to watch as Mary danced with Carson, Thomas, and Moseley, wishing that he was strong enough to dance himself. He sighed as he spotted Daisy standing off to the side, her mourning status preventing her from partaking in the evening's enjoyments. Again, he was forced to fight back feelings of guilt, and even shame, that he was there and William wasn't. Matthew knew that he would, one day, dance with his bride, but his young friend never would. He reminded himself to always remain grateful; his life was so blessed.

Late that night, he'd hummed softly in Mary's ear as he held her close in their bedroom, swaying slightly in place. It was the most he could do, but, for the moment, it had been enough.

Matthew's reminiscences were interrupted when they arrived at Crawley House. Branson stopped the car and jumped out to open the door for them. Mary held on to her husband's arm as they carefully maneuvered the stone pathway to the front door, admonishing him gently to go slowly lest he catch his foot on a stone and trip.

"Mary, I do wish you wouldn't fuss so. I'm not a child."

Mary merely brushed his petulant comment off, continuing to offer her support as he gingerly stepped up into the doorway.

They spent a lovely half-hour taking tea with Isobel, who promptly invited herself to come and stay with them for a few days once they were settled in London, before returning to the car on their way to the train station.

Matthew eyed the step up to the train car warily, his brow creasing and his palms sweating. Mary squeezed his arm and urged him gently forward. She understood his concern, but was confident in his ability to overcome the obstacles in his path. He'd already overcome so much that, in the grand scheme of it all, a couple of narrow steps should be nothing, yet she could see that he was worried. For all that he was kind, gentle, and honorable man, Matthew certainly had his pride. He hated being seen as a cripple, an invalid. Weak. It embarrassed him to be seen obviously leaning on her for support, and she wished there was another way. Well, she had suggested that they might bring the wheelchair along in case he got tired, but Matthew wouldn't hear of it.

"I'm never getting into that blasted thing again," he'd insisted, prompting an eye-roll from Mary, though she was secretly proud of him. She didn't want to see him back in the chair any more than he did, and she knew that the stares and pitying glances he received as he limped along with his stick would be nothing to what would happen should he venture out in public in a wheelchair.

"Would you like to go first, or should I?" she asked quietly, giving him another gentle nudge. "We shouldn't waste any more time if we want to board early."

Matthew sighed, but took a step forward, then another, until they stood just in front of the first step.

"After you, my dear." Putting on a brave smile, he placed his free hand protectively on the small of her back as she stepped up, little good that it actually did. Once she was up, he gripped the railing in one hand as he placed his stick on the step with the other, carefully stepping up into the car.

"There. That wasn't so terrible, was it?" Mary smiled and took his arm again as they found their seats. Matthew grinned bashfully at her, promptly closing his eyes against the persistent pinch in his lower back the exertion had prompted as they waited for the train to leave the station.

"Does this place bring back any memories for you?" Mary asked as she poured their tea. The small parlor at Grantham House was comfortably warmed by the afternoon sun, the pale yellow wallpaper and peach upholstery softly glowing in the light. They hadn't been there together since Sybil's coming out ball, and Mary keenly recalled a private moment they'd shared in this very parlor. They hadn't kissed or even touched in any way, yet it had been one of the loveliest moments that had passed between them up until that point.

Seeking solitude from the bustle all the grand preparations, Mary had slipped into what she thought was a deserted room, only to find Matthew quietly hunched over a book, his long forelock flopped down over his forehead and his jacket slung over the back of his chair. He'd been so adorably awkward, but somehow managed to ask her to open the ball with him before they were interrupted by her mother seeking her help with some detail or other. She'd left him blushing and staring dreamily after her, her heart singing with joy that he'd asked her to dance the first waltz of the night with him - something she'd been secretly wishing for.

"Some," Matthew responded coyly, his smile wistful as he recalled that time, so many years past. He'd been so hopeful, but also terrified. As much as he'd thought he loved her then, he now knew that it hadn't been enough. They'd come so far from the boy and girl they were then.

"Perhaps we can make some new ones now." Mary moved closer to him on the sofa, leaning in enough to brush her lips over his jaw, their tea forgotten for the moment. "Having the house all to ourselves is almost like being on a honeymoon."

"Only most people don't have to go to numerous doctor's appointments on their honeymoons."

Mary sighed and rested her cheek on his shoulder, wishing she could pull him out of the grim mood that seemed to have overtaken him as soon as they'd arrived. He was obviously worn out and sore, but she was determined to make the most of their time in London. Matthew could enjoy it too if she could just get him to see the possibilities instead of the obstacles.

"Well, we have all day tomorrow free to do as we please. What would you like to do?"

"You know I'd love, more than anything, to show you a good time out on the town," Matthew responded, a hard edge creeping into his voice as he pondered his frustrating situation. "Take you to the theatre, out to dinner...dancing...But you know that I can't."

Matthew knew he was being unnecessarily gruff, and the persistent ache in his back and legs certainly didn't help his mood. He was exhausted, stiff, and sore, but his wife was leaning into him, one little hand stroking over the fabric of his waistcoat, obviously feeling amorous with her talk of imaginary honeymoons.

"I know you're in pain, darling," Mary whispered softly against his shoulder before sitting up to reach for his tea cup. She carefully placed it in his hands, knowing he wouldn't be able to lean forward to get it himself with his back bothering him. He smiled appreciatively up at her and lifted the cup to his lips. She'd flavored his tea with cream and hint of lemon, just as he preferred.

Mary rose and made her way over to the door, turning with her hand on the knob to address Matthew in the strong, authoritative tone he had come to admire.

"I'll just go and see if a first floor bedroom can be arranged for us, dear. I had thought a suite on the second floor would be alright now, but I wouldn't want you to strain yourself after the exertion of the trip. I'm sure something can be worked out."

"I hate for you to go through such trouble for me," Matthew protested weakly, his brow creasing with concern and displeasure with himself for being such a burden to her. "I'm sure I'll manage somehow."

"Matthew," Mary responded softly, her brow arching in a gentle reproach, "I can clearly see you're stiff as a board. I don't mind, you know."

"I know." His voice was little more than a whisper, but its deep tones caressed Mary's ears, making her smile widen. "Come here," Matthew spoke with a bit more volume, holding out a hand in her direction. Mary strode slowly towards him, taking his teacup and placing it back on the tray before allowing him to pull her down beside him again. His arms went around her waist, and his mouth covered hers, forcing her lips open, drinking her in.

"You're an incredible woman, Mary Crawley. I do love you, so terribly much."

"I know you do," Mary teased gently, reaching up for a final, soft kiss before rising again.