AN: I own nothing.
Bring Him Home
She watches as he stands by the doorway.
Her smile cracks. The once flawless curve on her lips – a master of deception – now a mere grimace of disdain. Only, it is not disdain at all – it is pity, sickness? – it is something inscrutable. Something she cannot recognize. The sensation remains as she approaches him.
Slowly. She almost hopes he doesn't notice, but he does.
"Mary." He utters softly in greeting as he smiles. Genuine, like him. It has been a while since she has seen his smile – three months? Four? Perhaps even five – and it has changed very little. Except of course he smiles out of politeness.
He is in uniform; brushed and polished by his mother. Her eyes flicker down to his hands which flexed reflexively – a habit she remembers he never grew out of when he was collided with nerves. His mother says so.
"Matthew," she proffers back with a nod, "How are you?"
His smile widens as he clearly finds the question quite amusing.
"I am…rather, uneasy I must say," a chuckle escapes his lips as he lowers his glance to his shoes; "it is foolish, I know."
She quirks an eyebrow, "No," she rejects it with a wave of the hand, "I think what you are doing is honourable. It is acceptable to be nervous."
"That is kind to say."
He laughs again; she smiles coolly back. It is an echo of their past conversations since the war was announced; their encounters have become repetitive and dull.
And yet she treasures every second.
She watches as his mouth opens; he wants to say something. His blue eyes, shine. Shy. Embarrassed. Her own lips part – urging for his words to leap. For something different – something to remember –
"Well, I believe I must go..." He pronounces weakly, bowing his head as he eyes her, "Goodbye, Mary."
Disappointment.
Her lips press thinly together as she nods back,
"Yes," she breaths, "Goodbye."
Their eyes meet for a brief moment; his fingers resume flexing and his eyes avert towards the wall behind her. She feels a sensation swell within her as he does this; a growth of something as she inspects his face.
She ignores it. Voices. She could hear voices behind her. They barely make sense as his eyes turn towards her again; something stirs beneath his gaze as he opens his lips once more. A flutter of feeling commences inside her every molecule as she eagerly waits for his words.
"I – I must go." He finally shares, a shard of pain crossing his features as he steps forward.
"Of course," she stumbles as she dejectedly steps back, "Be safe."
The words ignite something within him as he stops. She lifts her head and she shares a stare with him; words remained within their insides as they quietly parted with another simple nod of the head.
Something nags her as her eyes begin to gleam with tears. She is not sure why she's crying –I'm sure why I am crying – and she observes him as he passes by her and slowly saunters away. Every distance he stretches; her heart seems to grow heavier.
As if his steps tug away at her strings.
Her breaths grow irregular as the emotions enlarge until her thoughts become barely comprehensible.
"M-Matthew," she calls for him.
He stops. Swivels.
Kindly, he smiles, "Yes?"
"Be careful," she manages as she arches her head away to hide her sodden face, "it is bloodshed… out there."
Her cracked, fragmented smile retrieves its pieces. She throws the sentiment at him; the deathly curve back in its rightful place.
"I will," he says, as he too motions his head away from her sight, "I… I promise."
It cracks again. His voice wavers; she pretends like she doesn't notice his sadness too. Pretends, like he is happy to go.
"Okay," she responds with a gasp, "goodbye."
"Goodbye..."
She seals his promise in her heart and watches as he pivots and begins his exit once more. He is besotted with another now; she knows that very well and yet she feels his impulse. He might love another and yet -
Belief. She believes, in him.
As her gaze drops at the long shadow he casts, a thought runs coldly in her mind. It hits her like a cold, tidal wave and she shivers in response.
What if that was the last time she was to see him?
Lady Mary Crawley. The little girl who promised she would never shed a tear on something as foolish as a man – will cry once more. Cry, for the same man twice.
She feels thoughtless as she wipes her tears gracelessly away from her face. Aimless, she retreats towards the doorway he stood. She will live in the pretence that she does not care until he returns. Live, like he does not bear the significance he weighs.
"Please, bring him home," she pleads the abandoned wind as she inhales the wisps of war, "please."
A tear falls; and suddenly, the feelings of his last goodbye returns.
Once more, she crumbles.
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