{SPOILERS FOR S2, BUT AU}
Disclaimer: Downton Abbey is ITV and Julian Fellowes' masterpiece, and the title and epigraph belong to the film Lilo & Stitch. Charlotte "Lottie" Elizabeth Crawley is my own character.
Characters & Pairings: Mary, OC, Anna, Robert, mentions of Matthew; Mary/Matthew, very slightly implied/mentioned Anna/Bates
Summary: AU S2, Mary receives word that her husband is missing.
Notes: The idea for this fic came from watching a scene of the film Lilo and Stitch where Lilo and Nani are outside in the hammock, and its title comes from the song Nani sings in that scene. And no, 19 is not too old to be watching Disney films. Ever.
One Fond Embrace
One fond embrace, a ho'i a'e au*
Until we meet again.
(*translation of the Hawaiian: 'ere I depart')
She's in her daughter's room when the news comes. There's the faint sound of footsteps in the corridor outside, and then a soft, hesitant knock on the door. Anna, voluntarily relegated to occasional nursery maid for the duration of her confinement, looks up from readying the little girl for bed, but Mary waves her back to her daughter and goes to answer the door herself. Stopped mid-pacing, her father looks up at her with sorrowful eyes.
"Matthew's missing," he forces out, his voice low with sadness, and her heart trembles. She pulls the door shut behind her. "Isobel's just telephoned. There was a call about half an hour ago for you at Crawley House." He pauses and puts his hand to her arm. "I'm so, so sorry, Mary."
She nods numbly. "Did they-" She clears her throat, her voice thick with emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. "Did they say what happened?"
Robert shakes his head slightly. "Only that he vanished on patrol a couple of days ago and hasn't been heard from since."
A few days ago? she thinks incredulously. Why have they not sent word before now?
Her father senses her distress. "I'm sure it's nothing," he says, but of course he's not; he can't be in wartime. He squeezes Mary's arm slightly in an attempt to reassure his daughter, but it makes little difference.
"What did Isobel say?" Mary manages to force out.
"Just that she'll be up first-thing tomorrow," Robert replies.
Mary nods, selfishly half-glad that she wouldn't have to face her mother-in-law's distress at her only son being missing in battle, half-wishing Isobel wouldn't have to be all alone in Crawley House tonight. When Matthew had gone to the front, both Mary and Isobel (and little Charlotte, of course) had been invited to stay up at the big house. Isobel had declined, preferring to stay close to the hospital in case she was needed on short-notice, but had insisted that Mary take up the offer so she and Lottie wouldn't be alone whilst she was out at the hospital on one of her ever-increasing shifts. Though it meant being away from Matthew's home – their home – while he was gone, she was grateful of the company and the welcome distraction from the constant lack of Matthew's presence in the house.
Until now, that is. Now she longs for their room, for the reassuring sight of his books scattered on his bedside table, and the faint scent of him that clung to their bed-sheets.
"Mary?"
Her father's gentle tones interrupt her thoughts, and she looks up to meet his sympathetic gaze.
"Thank you for telling me," she says flatly, automatically.
"Would you like me to stay for a while?" he asks.
She swallows, trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat. However much she might want to curl up and cry against her father's shoulder, she has her own daughter to think about now. Her daughter who now needs to be told that her father is missing.
"No," Mary replies, in the same hollow tone. "No thank you. I just-" need to be alone hangs in the air between them.
Robert nods in understanding and pulls her into a tight hug. "Goodnight, Mary," he whispers into her hair.
She clings to him for a moment and murmurs "Goodnight, Papa," and then pulls back. When she looks up and he turns to leave, she glimpses the tell-tale glistening in the corners of his eyes.
It's all she can do not to break down then and there.
Swallowing hard she puts her hand to the cold door-handle and steps back into the nursery. She has just enough time to control her tears and adjust to the muted lighting and then-
"Mama!" Lottie's voice breaks her silence and she almost flinches. She forces herself to act normal and look into her daughter's eyes – oh god, Matthew's eyes, blue and bright and piercing right into her soul – with a smile. Lottie hops in her seat and cranes her neck round to look at her mother while Anna deftly brushes out the little girl's golden locks.
Catching the other woman's attention, Mary holds out her hand for the brush. "Thank you Anna, that will be all," she says, hating how false and bright she sounds. Anna sees her mistress's distress, but tactfully says nothing of it.
"Of course," she replies. "Goodnight, my lady. Goodnight, Miss Charlotte."
"Night night, Anna!" chirps Lottie.
Mary's heart lurches at the happy innocence in her daughter's voice as the door closes with a soft 'click'. She mustn't know, she decides. She couldn't bear to see the pain in her little girl's eyes at the thought that her Papa might never come home again.
In an attempt to calm herself and feign normalcy, Mary takes up Anna's mantle and resumes brushing Lottie's hair. It has become their little routine in recent months, a few moments between mother and daughter snatched away from the rest of the world. Mary listens to her daughter's simple chatter and tries not to think of Matthew, and the way that Lottie's hair is the exact sae shade as his, shining in the dim lamplight.
Tonight though, despite all Mary's attempts to conceal it, Lottie can sense something is up and remains quiet, biting her bottom lip anxiously as her mother brushes her already-untangled hair. Normally the strokes of the brush soothe Lottie into sleepiness, but Mama's brushing is strange and different today, and goes on for too long.
"Mama...?" she begins quietly, turning her face up to her mother, carefully.
Mary jumps and pulls her hand back. "Sorry darling," she murmurs. "Mama is just a little tired, that's all." She sets the brush down on ... and tucks a loose lock behind Lottie's ear. "Bedtime now," she smiles.
Nodding gravely, Lottie jumps down off the stool and reaches up to her mother. Mary gathers her in her arms and carries her over to the bed, before settling her beneath the covers and clambering in beside her. Once more she enfolds her daughter in her arms.
"Mama? When will Papa be home?"
Of all the things Lottie could say, it is this that Mary has been dreading. Torn between never wanting to lie to her daughter, and the awful, awful truth, it is another bullet to the heart to hear Lottie's question.
"Soon," she whispers several long moments later, glad only that Lottie cannot see her face. She presses a soft kiss to her hair and rubs her back soothingly, and finally she lets herself go and the tears fall.
"Do you promise?" murmurs Lottie against her chest. Mary's voice catches in her throat. Lying was one thing, but this is another one entirely. She's about to open her mouth to reply – with what though, she has no idea – when Lottie let out a sleepy mumble and snuggles closer to her side, fast asleep.
Though she hates herself for it, Mary is grateful she has been spared having to answer. As she herself drifts off to sleep, her mind wanders to her husband, and she reaches out to the space in the bed where he would be.
Dear Lord, I don't pretend to have much credit with you. I'm not even sure that you're there. But if you are, and if I've ever done anything good, I beg you to keep him safe.
Sad as this fic is, I do hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought!