Author's note: Spoilers for the Christmas special. I've never written a fanfic about Downton Abbey before, but now... I just have to let my feelings out somehow – I've not even seen the Christmas special, but I know what happens, and – I understand why. I understand. But that's no reason to let it happen this way.
I only hope I do this show justice – I've only ever written stories for "Sherlock" and "Life on Mars".
I don't own anything, please review.
Somehow, though she'd never be able to explain how, she knew what had happened the moment her father stepped into the room.
A moment ago, she'd been holding her baby boy, waiting for her family and her husband's return.
A moment ago, she'd be convinced he wouldn't be an only child.
A moment ago, she'd thought about discussing names with Matthew.
And then she saw the face of her father and knew what had happened.
He looked at her, just looked at her, with empty eyes and said, slowly, "I – Mary, there has been an accident."
Before she could even comprehend what had happened, before she even thought about what could have happened, she pressed her baby close to her chest and answered. Just one word.
"No."
"Mary – " her father moved towards her.
"No". She repeated her one response, although she already knew that she couldn't change a thing. Her father's eyes, the way he talked, had already told her what had occurred, had already told her what she'd have to face. But there was a difference between knowing and believing, and she didn't want to believe. She didn't want to believe that she'd never see her husband again, she didn't want to believe that her little boy would grow up without a father, she didn't want to –
She didn't want to believe something like this could happen again.
Hadn't they suffered enough? Hadn't they already lost a family member (and she still felt a stab in her heart when she thought about her baby sister), hadn't they already mourned?
And then she realized that her father hadn't confirmed her fears yet, and for one blissful moment she clung to the hope that he'd tell her that Matthew was fine, was waiting down the hall, since she told the nurse that he'd have to wait, and that only the car –
But her father chose this moment, this one moment, this last moment where everything was like it was supposed to be, to say, "Matthew is dead, Mary. I'm sorry."
This time, her "No" was a desperate attempt to deny the truth, to make her father believe that he was wrong, that her husband would come into the room any minute, because he couldn't bear to be separated from his wife and child for a longer period of time.
But when her father sat down on her bed and looked at his grandchild and at her, with so much love and understanding and grief and she realized she'd seen this look once before, when Sybil had died, she knew it was true.
Matthew would never come back.
Matthew would never hold their child or her again.
Matthew and her would never grow old at Downton, surrounded by their children and grandchildren.
Matthew was gone.
She didn't know how much time had passed, but her son cried out and she realized she must have pressed him against her. Her father slowly extracted the infant from her arms, still looking at her with the sympathy that she couldn't stand right now.
"The family is waiting in the hall" he informed her. "They want to see the new member of the family. Shall I – "
Her upbringing saved her once again.
"By all means, tell them to come in" she answered. "Is Granny here?"
Her father looked at the floor, just for a moment, and she knew that Granny wasn't aware what had happened yet. She'd most likely been in her cottage at the time of the accident, waiting for news, and her father had decided not to tell her that Matthew was dead. His answer confirmed her suspicions.
"No."
"She will want to know what happened. She will want to see her great-grandson. You know how she is if she isn't informed about everything that's going on."
"Mary..."
"For God's sake, send them in!" she exclaimed, taking her son back into her arms. She couldn't be alone with their baby now. With their thoughts and dreams. With their hopes that would never become reality.
For a moment, she thought her father wanted to say something, but then, to her immense relief, he nodded. "I'll send them in, as you wish."
He left the room, and she tried to compose herself. She wasn't crying. She hadn't cried yet. The tears would come, she was sure of it. The tears and the grief, the real, heartbreaking, grief would come, and she'd feel like everything in her life had suddenly been divided into a "Before" and an "After".
Before Matthew died. After Matthew died.
And to think that they'd only had a few short months of happiness together. And if she hadn't made the mistake, when the war broke out, to –
But, thankfully, her mother and Edith entered the room, and she could concentrate on her son.
Her mother hugged her and took the child, kissing it again and again. "Don't worry, Mary, we will be there for you. Like we always were. Like we always will be." Then she added, "Your father is gone to tell Granny. And Isobel". And Mary realized that she hadn't even spared Matthew's mother a thought yet, and for a moment, she wondered if she was being selfish.
Edith didn't know what to do, Mary could tell. She stood there, biting her lip, and once upon a time, she'd have resented the fact that her sister didn't know what to say after her husband had died, but now, she understood Edith better. Edith had never had a husband, perhaps she never would have a husband, but that didn't mean she didn't couldn't grieve with her. She had liked Matthew (even if her small crush on him had long since evaporated into thin air), and they'd only just lost Sybil.
So she said, trying to be calm, "Edith, this is your nephew", gesturing towards the child in her mother's arms.
Edith smiled, though there were tears in her eyes Mary tried to overlook.
"Do you know what – "
She stopped herself, and Mary knew what she wanted to ask, knew what everyone would ask. There was only one answer.
"Matthew. After his father."
Edith smiled a real smile this time and said, slowly, "That's a wonderful name. Do you mind if I hold him, Mama?" Their mother let go of her second grandchild reluctantly, and Mary leaned back and watched them admire her – their – son, only aware of how much time must have passed when Isobel and Granny entered the room, Granny apparently steadying Isobel, followed by her father.
Granny, as usual, tried to be strong for all of them. "Mary. This must be – "
"Matthew" she replied quietly, and her grandmother nodded.
"Little Matthew, then. He's a good-looking lad. Edith, would you pass him over?"
To her surprise, she handed him to Isobel first, who apparently didn't know what to do. She looked at the little boy, and Mary could tell that memories of Matthew's birth were passing through her mind; memories of the son she never imagined she'd have to bury.
He'd survived the war, only to die in an accident after his son was born.
The reality of it all hit her, and suddenly, she couldn't breathe.
It was Edith who realized it, and she came over – Granny had by now taken Matthew in her arms, Isobel still looking at him like she didn't comprehend what had happened, and maybe, she didn't – and hugged her. How strange it was, that they only hugged when someone had died. She didn't say anything, but the gesture said enough. Her mother, who had stood in the back since she'd let go of her grandson, next to her husband, sat down on her bed and took her hand as Edith let go.
"We will all be there for you, for both of you."
She tried to smile, although she could finally feel the tears coming. "I know, Mama."
She was only just beginning to miss her husband, really miss him. The fact that she'd never see him again was starting to sink in, and it hurt, like nothing had ever hurt before. Suddenly she had the desire to have her son close.
"Could you pass me Matthew, please?" she asked, her voice surprisingly steady, and Granny did so, saying, "He's a Crawley, just like you. Just like his father was. We'll pull through."
Then her grandmother turned around and squeezed Isobel's elbow.
Mary felt that she'd rather be alone with her son; she could tell that she'd soon start to cry, to grieve, to feel her loss, and she didn't want anyone to see her like this.
Edith seemed to sense her unspoken wish.
"Why don't we let Mary alone with Matthew? She must be tired".
Her mother looked like she wanted to protest, but a glance from Granny told her not to. They all left – her mother and Granny taking Isobel's arms, followed by Edith and her father – and she was alone with her son.
With the only son she and Matthew would ever have, who was everything to her, now that her husband was gone.
She cried then. She didn't know how long she cried, but it must have been quite a while, because eventually Matthew started to cry too, and she realized that she'd have to pull herself together and carry on. Like she'd always had. She hadn't lost everything, although she had lost a lot.
But she'd gained a son.
And, although she didn't feel like it now, she was sure that the pain would become bearable in time. She would draw strength from her memories of Matthew, she would see their son grew up to be the next Earl of Grantham.
But, for now, she would grieve.
Because there was nothing else to do.
Author's note: Either there are already a lot of fics out there that deal with what happened, or there will be. But I couldn't resist. I love "Downton Abbey", and I was surprised and shocked when I read what happened, and I had to write something.
I hope you liked it, please review.