Turning tables

Summary: The famous dialogue in 1x06 ended up with a marriage proposal and Matthew forever chasing Mary. But what if he'd turned tables on her? Sixth instalment of my Downtonverse.

Author's note: This was inspired by the song "Say, say, say" by Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson I heard on my way to work and it didn't leave me for the rest of the morning. So I sat down during lunch break and started writing down this ficlet, if only to be able to concentrate fully on my work afterwards because writing this doesn't pay the rent. Speaking of, the balance of my bank account clearly proves "Downton Abbey" does not belong to me.

JF:

"You must be careful not to break Sybil's heart. I think she's got a crush on you. "

"And that's something no one could accuse you of."

Well, how about, if it had gone like this?

"You must be careful not to break Sybil's heart. I think she's got a crush on you. "

Matthew paused. What was that? How did she go from their flirting as a duty to Sybil's crush? She wasn't… jealous, was she? He felt a pleasant flutter in his stomach, before he gave himself a firm shake. She might be and she might be not. And she had played once too often with him to let him still believe anything she said without reserve. Sir Anthony came to his mind still all too readily even after a winter gone by. He would not give her the satisfaction to see him react to her.

On the other hand, he felt pretty good about himself tonight. He knew he was no hero at heart, though he had knocked down a man… well, that had been a spur of the moment thing, hot-headed and really not well thought through. But it had felt very satisfying to see the man go down. Get out of the way for Perseus!

Besides… he flexed his still slightly hurting hand before picking up his sandwich… besides, he felt as if Mary had really noticed him for the first time ever, as if he had the upper hand for the first time instead of forever panting after her. And that felt even better! A thought flashed through his mind. What if he let her chase him for a change? He swallowed. What did he really have to lose, hmh?

"Yes, I'm aware of it. But who says anything about breaking her heart?" He looked coolly at her, casually taking a bite.

"What? You can't be serious! She's a child."

"Is she?"

"She certainly is! She's had not even her first season."

"So what?" He took another bite, noticing with no small satisfaction her growing agitation.

"Matthew, she's my little sister!"

"On the chance of becoming repetitive: so what?"

"She's only 17, for God's sake! And just because you're her knight in shining armour tonight…"

"Mary, I know that. Yes, she's only 17. Yes, she's not come out yet. That's what you see. But I see something very different, when I look at her."

"Pray, tell me what that could be? Her impressionability? Her recklessness? Her stupidity? Her rebelliousness? Her pig-headedness to do whatever she likes with no thought about consequences? Her total disregard for convention?"

"No. I see a young woman breaking out of her cage, eager to explore the world, testing boundaries, finding her place. A young woman who's curious about people instead of hiding behind social class-affiliation, who wants to learn and to experience life beyond the park walls of Downton. I see a passionate woman, warm-hearted and gentle. I think it's exciting to watch taking her first steps into the world and it would be very rewarding to be the rock from which she soars high up into the skies. She would make a splendid countess when the time comes and take care of her subjects in a manner of speaking and know of the responsibility that comes with her position. She'd use it for the good."

"And you're the one to take her by the hand and show her the world?" Mary masked her growing anxiety with open scepticism.

"I don't see any reason not to, though that's up to her to decide. The world is a wide and open space and all you have to do is grab your part of it."

"Sure, it's easy, when you're a man."

"Nonsense, Mary! Stop feeling sorry for yourself and hold the world responsible for your misery. So you won't become Governor of the Bank of England. Do something else. Find a worthy charity case and make it grand. Become a fashion designer. Take driving lessons with Branson. Write a novel. Go out and collect fossils. Learn how to make cheese. Become an expert in orchid breeding or do whatever else you like. You're Lady Mary Crawley. You're intelligent, you're beautiful, desirable and you're witty and charming, even warm-hearted, when you choose to be. Start looking at the opportunities the world offers instead of focussing on what it denies you."

"Be more like Sybil?" Backed into a corner she turned scepticism into vitriol.

"If the shoe fits." He shrugged.

"I bet you'd like that. Then you'd be released from your duty and free to choose your own bride and marry for love. I hadn't pegged you as a cradle robber, though." She laughed hard.

"STOP IT, MARY! Stop taking it out on me! I'm not your enemy! Nor am I your personal punching bag. Frankly speaking, I've had it with your attitude and your power games. If you'd only look for once in your life past your own nose and see that I've been thrown into a life I didn't chose and have not been prepared for. And instead of helping me fit in, to become the earl your very much beloved Downton deserves your only contribution is to belittle me and toy with me, when the mood strikes you. Express telegram, Mary: I'm not your puppy dog, forever chasing you and coming back to you no matter how often or how hard you kick me just to make you feel better or rage against me as a representative for all you think is wrong in your life.

So, coming back to Sybil: Tell me, who's the child here? She, who goes out into the world with an open heart or you, who throws temper tantrums and makes everyone miserable because you don't get what you want? I know my words are more than harsh, if not cruel. But Mary, I truly don't say them to hurt you, but to shake you and make you realise that you make your life unnecessarily hard for you. I know you're stubborn and proud, but how about looking at it from another angle: If it makes you happy, why is it so bad, if it pleases others at the same time? Don't deny yourself to spite others. You only cripple yourself, if you let the world decide what's best for you. You wouldn't give in, but take charge of your life and that makes you strong." He stopped to take a deep breath and swallowed drily. An imperious gesture let her shut her mouth again. He was not done yet.

"So, here's the deal: Should you come to the conclusion you rather like me and be Countess of Grantham, then you know where to find me. And if you rather do something else with your life, then that's fine, too, as long as you're absolutely and irrevocably sure it would make you happier than I could, given the chance. But know also that I won't wait for you forever."

And with that he wiped his mouth and threw the napkin onto the empty plate in front of him. The chair scraped the floor, when he pushed back hard to stand up. Mary reared back, when he suddenly loomed over her. Cradling her cheek in one hand, while bracing himself against the back of her chair, he gave her half a second to prepare before he surprisingly tenderly kissed her soft lips. His thumb caressed her silky cheek before his hand traced a strand of her hair to the knot at the back of her head, while he looked deeply into her wide-blown eyes. Her eyes fell shut and she leant into his caress, seeking his warmth, exposing her neck. His finger traced the shell of her ear, played with her earlobe for a moment, before venturing down to come to rest over her pulse for a second. Surely he must feel it jumping and racing under his hand. His hand started his exploration of her again, surely and leisurely he paid a visit to her earlobe again, which let her sigh, before it followed her eye-brow, dipped down the slope of her nose and was caught by her bottom lip. Her lips opened slightly underneath his finger, when he deliberately followed their form. She felt helpless under this onslaught, open, exposed, catapulted onto a new plane of existence and confined in a bubble out of time. Willingly she followed his guidance to tilt her head back even more with gentle pressure on her chin. He stopped. Why did he stop? Was his breath louder? Or was it hers? Her eyes fluttered opened, unwilling to break this enchantment. He waited patiently until she focussed on him.

"What do you want from life, Mary? Think about it." His husky voice resonated through her entire body. He kissed her again, firmer, hinting at the passion that would be theirs to share.

And with that he left her open mouthed and blazing with arousal in the dining room. How dared he! How dared he doing that to her, how dared he stopping? Feeling as if she was drowning in the storm-tossed sea of sensations and feelings, she latched onto the first plank she came across – rage!

No one had ever talked to her like this! Should she immediately warn her father about Matthew's designs? Should she caution Sybil against him? But then she would come across as being jealous, if she did. And that would allow everyone an insight into her feelings. It would make her vulnerable. It would make her feel embarrassed. Her more tender feelings were hers alone and not for others to dissect, exploit and manipulate. Feelings, sensations... hesitantly she touched her lips. They still felt tingly and she still could feel the pressure of Matthew's kisses on them. Licking her bottom lip, she could taste him on her. It didn't feel like with Pamuk. Nothing he had done to her had felt like Pamuk. Nothing at all ever had! She couldn't sit still any longer. Agitatedly she began walking up and down the long dining table. A restless beast had awoken and stretched itself until it inhabited every cell of her body, infused her with sensual heat.

What if she kissed Matthew or he her again? The rush of fire coming up from her belly made her gasp. His blue eyes stood as clearly in front of her inner eye as since that one night. That red... that damnable shade of red contrasting with his blue eyes and blond hair. What if she... and then would he...

She gave herself a mental shake and forced herself to think with a level head. She once had let herself be ruled by desire. And it ruined her entire life with people talking now in London. What had Matthew really said? Had his words been a marriage proposal, albeit a very quirky one? Or had he made his intentions towards Sybil known? Well, there was this moment in his parlour between them tonight. They had looked as if they had forgotten for one moment the rest of the world. But now, just mere minutes ago, he had cast his spell on her.

What last autumn? It couldn't have been just her imagination. They had flirted so heavily and spoken so honest and open with each other, she was still amazed that the table cloth hadn't caught fire or that they had given their horses a good workout instead of rolling around in the grass in mindless passion. And hadn't Matthew suggested they should spend more time with each other just a couple of weeks ago, when he had started speaking properly to her again? Yet he waxed poetic about Sybil being a little bird in need to be set free.

She harrumphed. He really had some nerve, talking to her about making up her mind, when he so obviously didn't know himself either.

But maybe Matthew was right on one thing: Perhaps it was time to take stock and think about what she really wanted to do with the rest of her life and see what the world still had on offer for her. And unbidden her hand caressed her lips again.

Ende