One-shot set during the Christmas Special, after Mary and Matthew's dance at the servants' ball but prior to Matthew's proposal. A glimpse inside Matthew's head as he finally comes to his senses. Feedback welcome! Enjoy!

As the waltz drew to a close, Mary smiled at Matthew – that stiff and overly cheerful smile he knew all too well as the smile she used to hide her true feelings.

"Thank you for the dance," she said as she gently slipped out of his arms.

"My pleasure," Matthew replied warmly, already missing the feel of her back against his palm.

As he watched her wander away, suddenly Matthew felt the room closing in on him. He had grown quite accustomed to Mary's friendship since coming back from the war. He looked forward to seeing her and enjoyed her company far too much for someone who once vowed things were over between them forever. And now she was leaving for America, perhaps for a very long time. The thought of her being so far away, of not seeing her beautiful face, not being able to talk with her and laugh with her, sent a wave of panic through him. What the hell was he doing? She could very well come back from America a married woman, if she came back at all. She would have no shortage of suitors in New York - cocky, self-made millionaires only too happy to take a stunning British aristocrat as their bride. But would she be happy? Moreover, could he be happy seeing her married to anyone else?

Feeling like he couldn't breathe and in no mood to make small talk with anyone, Matthew escaped into the library and poured himself a scotch. God, how he hated admitting it, but Mother was right. This was all so ridiculous. He and Mary could barely stay away from each other. Everyone within a 20 mile radius could see it. What was the point of committing them both to a lifetime of feeling incomplete? Lavinia wouldn't have wanted that. She had never wanted anything but happiness for him.

Swirling the drink in his glass, Matthew thought about the long years which had passed since his proposal. So much had changed. Yet he knew deep down that he still wanted to spend his life with Mary - to have children with her, to grow old together. He didn't care about a whit about Kemal Pamuk. In fact he found it strangely comforting to know that the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley had once thrown caution to the wind, giving in to her emotions and flagrantly ignoring society's expectations. It was that fieriness he loved about her. Was Pamuk part of the reason she was reluctant to accept him all those years ago? She must have been terrified to tell him. And truthfully, he wasn't sure he could have been so understanding back then. War did have a way of distinguishing the things that matter from the things that don't. His mind flashed back to those moments between them that he had failed to fully comprehend:

"Oh Matthew, you always make everything so black or white!"

"If you knew the reason you would despise me, and that I really couldn't bear…"

If only he'd known. If only he'd fought harder for her.

He threw back the remaining scotch, set the glass down purposefully and strode out of the room.

Not seeing her as he searched the dance floor, Matthew approached Carson.

"Carson, have you seen Lady Mary?"

"I believe she just stepped outside the main door, sir. Perhaps she wanted to see the snow."

"Thank you, Carson."

Matthew walked into the hallway and looked towards the doorway. There she was, her back to him, staring out into the night. The sight of her took his breath away. Snow was falling gently on her chestnut hair, and her bare arms were crossed against the cold. She looked like an angel, fierce yet fragile. Matthew was reminded of how he'd pronounced her a storm-braver just a few nights ago. And so she was. So they would be together.

Matthew smiled and took a deep breath.