A/N: I have an overactive imagination, but translating my imagination into words to the superb works of OrangeShipper, Lady Etiquette, Athena mou, , EOlivet, Pemonynen, Chickwriter, etc. is not my forte. They all have the talent of bringing you into their world of Downton Abbey but mine are all but conversations in my head on how I want Downton Abbey to go. So please be patient with me as I will try to bring my imagination to paper (computer monitor, really) as if you are all there. If not, use your imagination.
And if anybody is willing to take on a novice writer (me!) and work on this story with me, or be my Beta, please let me know.
Warning: Slight Christmas Special 2012 spoilers ahead.
Chapter 1:
Isobel Crawley lost track of time the second she heard Dr. Clarkson's words over the telephone.
Matthew.
Car accident.
Preparing him for operation as they speak.
She and the rest of the Crawley household rush to the hospital, only to find the constables examining the wreckage, her son's car, along their way. Tom had volunteered to stay behind and keep the family updated on the findings of the accident.
Despite the nurse's protests, she heads to the operating room where her son was still being held. She finds Dr. Clarkson finishing his chart, and her darling Matthew, on the table.
Isobel gasps at the sight before her, and Dr. Clarkson notices her presence,
"Isobel, I was just signing off on Matthew's chart," as Dr. Clarkson finishes the last pages of the forms.
"How is he? His head," she tries to control the tears that begin to fall.
"He is stable, for now. We had to shave his head in order to get a better view of the damage. The pressure on his brain has been relieved. He has a few broken ribs from his fall, but nothing that cannot be fixed. Isobel, for now we will just have to wait, and let his brain recover."
She manages to control her emotions to ask, "will he recover?"
Dr. Clarkson sighs, and looks at her for a moment, contemplating how to best answer.
"Richard, please." She begs. Please let him be alright. Her baby boy. Her son's baby boy was only a few hours old! Surely, the world is not that cruel to rob her grandson of a father so soon.
"It is hard to say Isobel. He is in a coma, whether or not he will come out of it is unknown. If he does wake up, there is no guarantee that he shall be your Matthew."
Isobel sits in a corner of the operating room as Dr. Clarkson and the nurses move Matthew to another room. She begins a mental list of her late husband's colleagues and plans to get her son the best neurosurgeon as possible.
But before any phone call is made, Isobel realizes, she must first bring the news to the rest of the family. She dries her tears and heads to her daughter-in-law's room.
Isobel Crawley tries to find a comfortable position in the chair provided for her in her son's room. Thirty six hours have passed, and Matthew, aside from his bruises healing nicely, was not showing any signs of recovery. With her and the Earl of Grantham's connections, the best neurosurgeon in London shall be arriving Downton tomorrow to check on her son.
Mary has gone back to the abbey with their little prince, despite Mary's wishes to stay with her husband.
"Your son needs you Mary. It shall do you no good staying at his bedside when you know he would want you to take of your baby," Isobel implores. That, along with the promise of phoning Mary the minute anything happen finally convinces Mary to go.
"Mother"
"Matthew!", she exclaims as she rushes to her son's bedside and takes his hand into hers. "Yes, my boy, it's me."
"Water, please"
Isobel fills a cup of water for her son, and helps her sit up to take a sip.
"There, there, Matthew. Sip slowly."
"Thank you mother. Where am I? What happened?"
"You were in a car accident. Do you remember?"
"I… I was on my way home wasn't I?"
"Yes, yes, my dear boy, you were!" Isobel exclaims as relief courses through her veins. She gives her son a fond kiss on the forehead, "I shall fetch Dr. Clarkson, and telephone the abbey. I am sure they will be delighted with your recovery, Mary will want to come back to see for herself I'm sure."
"Mary, who is Mary?"
Isobel stops her tracks and turns around to face her son.
"Mary, Mary Crawley."
"Is that the daughter of the earl of Grantham, mother?"
Isobel's relief turns to worry.
"She is. She is also your wife."
"That is a bit presumptuous don't you think, mother? We haven't even met them yet, and she is now my wife? I know that once they heard I was a bachelor, they would push one of their daughter's at me. But to choose my wife for me?"
It takes a few moments for Isobel to formulate a response for her son.
"Matthew, what year is it?"
"Is it September 1912."
…
"Mother, are you alright?"