Lets fix the plot, shall we, Julian Fellowes ;)

:::

Broken pieces of memories.

He smiled at the baby boy that yawned in response. Tears filled his eyes. The little one was so beautiful, so small and fragile. For the first time Matthew felt like he was a whole person. This was the best moment of his life.

He now saw the world a little bit differently. Everything outside his little circle of joy didn't seem important anymore.

Mary, oh his beautiful Mary smiled at him.

Minutes passed. They chatted happily. Nothing could destroy this! He felt great, like he'd swallowed a whole box of fireworks.

He had to leave, to tell the rest of the family the good news. He didn't want to go, but it was his first duty as a father. To tell the world.

Giving Mary a quick kiss and his little prince a peck on his small forehead, he walked out of the room feeling light-headed, as if gravity didn't affect him like it should. His mother smiled at him and gave him a hug. Everything felt so surreal; he didn't take in conversations, couldn't remember what his mother nor Mary had said to him.

:::

He opened his eyes slightly but the blurry vision gave him no clue of where he was. Two dark shadows bent over him. A slight pressure on his rib cage sent a pain like lightning bolts through his chest. He winced in pain.

"Mary, he's responding!" Was it mother who was saying these words?

"Oh thank god. I had lost hope." A velvet female voice spoke. He had never heard it before. Who was she? A nurse?

"His eyes fluttered and he made a sound." The voice that belonged to the older woman said happily.

"Matthew? Can you hear me?" Fingers stroked his chin.

:::

Matthew knew he wasn't supposed to be speeding. But he was eager to tell the story of his new-born son and happy wife to the rest of the family. He had almost reached the corner when the speeding truck turned up, blocking the way. Matthew pressed the brakes and swerved to avoid it.

The sound of the collision deafened him for a moment. His heart pumped icy cold blood through his body.

Pain was everywhere.

Warm liquid trickled down his chin.

He couldn't breathe. Something pressed against his chest.

He closed his eyes.

:::

"Matthew, my boy. My dearest boy, open your eyes."

He recognised that voice! His hearing had improved much. Isobel Crawley, his mother, was talking to him. His head ached.

"Mother." His voice was hoarse.

"I'm here Matthew. You don't have to worry, I'm here."

"What happened?" He asked, but his voice was so terribly hoarse, she couldn't understand what he was saying.

He heard another unfamiliar voice. "Mr Crawley, can you open your eyes for me?" The voice belonged to an older man.

Matthew slowly opened his eyes. An old man, with white hair and a moustache, examined all his movements. A smile spread across his face. "Mr Crawley, I think you've done it again."

Matthew shifted in his bed. "Where am I?" He looked around and found his mother standing next to the moustache man. Was he a doctor?

"You're in the hospital." His mother answered him. So the man really was a doctor. Something must've happened to cause him to wake up in a hospital.

The man with the moustache came back into Matthew's view. He held up his hand in front of his

face. "How many fingers?"

"Three."

"Correct." The doctor proceeded with cards of a tree, a car, a ball and other mundane things, asking Matthew to tell him what they represented. Matthew went through a vision screening, passing with flying colours.

The doctor put away all of the cards, retrieved his journal and asked: "What is your name?"

"Matthew Crawley."

The doctor nodded. "The name of your parents?"

"Reginald and Isobel Crawley." His mother smiled at him, he smiled back weakly.

"In what year are you born?"

"1890."

"That's correct, Mr Crawley." The doctor flipped the page. "How old are you?"

"I'm the age of 22." Matthew said and waited for the next question.

Isobel stared at him in disbelief. She was about to say something when the doctor cut her off. "Do you know what year it is?" He asked and scanned Matthew.

"Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I?" He said. "It's 1912. The Titanic has just sunk. What a tragedy, I read about it in the newspapers a few days ago; probably the tragedy of the century."

"Matthew." His mother said and placed his hand in hers. "It's 1921."

"What?" He exclaimed in disbelief. "No it's not."

Isobel looked back at the doctor. Begging for an explanation with her facial expressions. She was a trained nurse and a doctor's wife; she knew the symptoms but didn't want to believe them.

"Do you know who I am?" The doctor asked carefully.

"No, I don't."

The doctor took a chair and sat down beside him. "I'm Doctor Clarkson. We've known each other for almost ten years." He clarified.

"I'm sorry but I don't remember meeting you."

Clarkson gulped. "What was your rank in the Great War?" He asked, continuing his questions.

"What war?" Matthew looked genuinely confused.

Clarkson took a deep breath and then asked the last question. "What is the name of your wife?"

"No," Matthew said, laughing nervously. "You don't understand, I'm not married."

"Yes, you are." Isobel could no longer keep silent. "It's 1921, you married your wife Mary last year, and you have a new-born son. Don't you remember any of that?" She looked at his bedside towards his wedding ring, but couldn't find it. Was it gone?

"No, I don't because it never happened!"

Clarkson waved at a nurse and asked her to get Matthew a glass of water. "What do you remember then?"

"I remember reading the papers about the Titanic..." Matthew's voice trailed. He looked at his mother for support, she didn't offer him any. "Are you two playing a trick on me?"

"No Matthew, you have to believe me." She said. Frustration was evident in her voice as she continued to search for the wedding ring.

His mother must've gone mad, Matthew decided, along with this crazy witch doctor. There is no way he had been in a long term coma for ten years. It was impossible. Just as impossible as the fact that he had a wife and a son.