A/N: I keep promising myself that I won't write anything else until I've written the next chapter of With All The Time In The World... and this time I really mean it! Just this little ficlet I couldn't resist in the meantime.

Based on a couple of tumblr prompts that I combined, think of it as a little series of snapshots. It isn't anything that I likely expect will happen in the CS; it's just wishful thinking really.

Thanks as always to EOlivet for being so supportive and for her polish.

Enjoy..!

Excitement in Expectation

The castle was bigger than the abbey, the hall loftier and older and grander, and the throng of guests seemed to weave in and out of shadows and firelight as they danced. The traditional Scottish music was more lively than the Crawleys were typically used to at balls such as these, and as Matthew sat away to the side with his wife's hand curled gently in his lap, he couldn't help his heel tapping gently.

"You should dance," Mary leaned to him, her voice low and soft. She'd seen the slight wistful turn of his expression, and wished he wouldn't sit out when he needn't.

With a little sigh, he looked at her… and at the large, rounded swell of her belly swathed under soft blue chiffon. Part of him wished they hadn't travelled with the rest of the family at all, considering her condition, but she'd been so restless in the last month or so that she'd begged for the change of scenery and the clearer air of Scotland. They'd only come with Clarkson's sincerest assurances of her (and the baby's) health, and his instructions for Mary to ensure plenty of rest.

Matthew shook his head. "I want to dance with you."

"Of course you do," she smiled, and rubbed his hand. "But we both know that I'm not supposed to have too much excitement… Still, that's no reason for you not to enjoy yourself, darling. Why don't you ask Granny? It might lighten her up a little." They both glanced to where the Dowager sat, looking sour-faced at the revellers.

"But I won't enjoy myself, dancing with anyone else. It… isn't the same," Matthew murmured plaintively. He loved to dance, that was true, but… with his wife.

Mary laughed at him gently, and eased her hand from his grasp, patting his kilted knee before settling her hands in her lap.

"Perhaps you won't, darling. But I'll certainly enjoy watching you… Now, off you go." And she smiled indulgently to herself as he kissed her cheek and got up, taking unashamed pleasure in watching his handsome figure stride across the hall.

Mary took the doctor's advice to heart, and did her best to rest. It was easy to do in such a peaceful climate as the wooded grounds of Duneagle, and she took pleasure in gentle walks with Matthew, or simply resting on a secluded bench with her head settled in his lap while he read to her. Only a short while ago, she'd have thought such a relaxation of propriety impossible outside of the intimacy of their bedroom; but for weeks now she'd ached and everything felt heavy and difficult, and the sheer comfort of curling against her husband as she wished began to win out over propriety. She thought fleetingly of Sybil's complaints to her so long ago now; of swollen ankles and backaches and how she wouldn't recommend it to anybody… and pushed down the gentle pulse of fear that shivered through her, fixing instead upon Matthew's warm, solid presence beside her.

They tried not to think of it, tried to distract themselves with anything else. After all, Clarkson had assured them that Mary showed no signs of the same condition, so far at least, and that everything seemed healthy and normal. They concentrated instead on the excitement of the prospect of their child, at last… They bickered over what sex it would be, what its name would be, they talked of the things they would do and how every sleepless moment would be entirely worth it. They did not speak of the alternative.

"Do you know what I'm looking forward to, darling?" Matthew murmured against her hair one night, as they lay in the tall, unfamiliar bed. "Perhaps not the most of all, but… very much, certainly…"

"Hmm?" She curled as comfortably as she could against him, playing idly with his fingers. Here, in his arms, she felt entirely safe.

He pulled their joined hands to his lips, and kissed each of her fingertips and knuckles with soft reverence as he whispered,

"I can't wait, my darling, to make love to you again… Properly, I mean, without it being so… difficult, and having to be so… careful about it."

That he wanted to, and that he voiced it, sent a thrilling pulse of arousal through Mary as memories of less restrained pleasures they'd shared together seared in her mind. All at once, nothing else seemed to matter. She manoeuvred awkwardly to kiss him, and to kiss him again, and within moments being careful about it was forgotten entirely, as fingers sought and shed garments and curled into hair and caressed hot, damp skin… and they indulged in far more excitement that they were sure Clarkson would have advised.

It was too soon; a full month too soon. It wasn't supposed to be happening yet, not yet, and Matthew gripped his wife's hand as he tried to quell the fear rising in his chest.

"It's funny!" Mary gasped, teeth gritting as she strained through another wave of clenching pain. Her fingers bruised Matthew's hand, but she couldn't think of that now. "How Sybil… wanted so desperately for her baby to be born in Ireland, and – was forced to give birth at – Downton, after all. And I'd only ever dreamed of having a child at – Downton, and – here we are in – Scotland!"

She blinked at a wave of unexpected tears, and Matthew brushed them softly away with a shaking hand.

"My darling, I don't care where we are," he whispered, failing to mask the trembling of his voice. "I know it isn't what we'd hoped but – all I care about is that you'll be safe, and our baby, and – that's it, darling, that's it."

"I know, I know, I – ah!" Mary's head lowered to her raised knees, her body quaking with effort and pain and exhaustion, even now, and she felt so… terribly afraid, and couldn't bear for anyone to be witness to such vulnerability.

As the doctor (how wretchedly ironic, it seemed, that this time they would have wished for Clarkson and yet were left with a stranger) gave the sign that it was nearly time, she begged her husband to leave her.

"I can't," he hissed bitterly, clutching her hand. "Please, Mary, you don't need to do this alone – darling, please don't ask me to –"

"Matthew! Darling, don't make this difficult." Her breath came in quick, harsh pants, and she pleaded with him, her heart breaking at his fearful, tear-filled eyes. "I can't… let you see me like this, it isn't – proper, please…"

"I don't care that it isn't proper, I –"

"Darling I – will be perfectly alright. We will be perfectly alright, see, I'm not – alone, am I! I know you're afraid, but – I can't bear your fear as well, you see, not now… So please, darling…"

He fought to loosen his grip on her hand, looking between his wife and the doctor, whose subtle nod attested to Mary's words. And Matthew knew… He knew that her own burden was enough in this moment, and that his terror would only burden her further, and… no, he couldn't put that upon her.

Swallowing, he touched his hand to her clammy cheek.

"Alright, but – darling, promise me that I can count on you to be alright. You, and our baby, and –"

"You can always count on me! You know that," she smiled painfully, crying out at another sharp, contracting wave.

"I know that," Matthew echoed her, and in her brief moment of rest he pressed his lips fiercely to hers. "Such good luck, my darling girl. I'll be just outside the door."

Mary bit her lip and nodded, squeezing his hand once before letting him go, trying to breathe, trying to concentrate on what the doctor and the nurse were telling her to do, trying not to think about… Sybil…

When Matthew came into the corridor, sagging against the wall, he was hardly surprised to see his mother waiting there, and his brother-in-law, too.

Branson gave him a weak smile.

"Have faith, Matthew," he said kindly. "You have to have faith." He didn't say it would be alright, because how could he possibly? But he could at least be there for his friend, and he would be.

They tried to take him to where the rest of the family waited down in the drawing room, away from the sporadic cries of his wife's pain that only terrified him more, but Matthew would not go. And so they waited together, through the night, each consumed with their own silent, fervent prayers.

"I told you he'd be a boy," Mary whispered, gazing in wonder at the tiny bundle cradled in her arms.

"You hoped he'd be a boy," Matthew chuckled, and pressed a trembling kiss to her hair. His fingertips stroked reverently at the perfect softness of his son's cheek, and he hardly dared to believe the reality of his wife and child before him. "It's not quite the same thing, my darling."

"Stop being facetious. I knew, I can't tell you how but I did. And here he is."

There he was, and he was tiny and perfect, and every little movement and sound he made were the greatest revelation. He was their son, and he was there, and she could hold him as he wriggled sleepily within the softly woven blanket. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she wiped at them, desperately trying to stifle a yawn.

"Sleep," her husband urged her softly. "You deserve a rest."

"I don't… need to, I'll be alright. Just a little longer."

He stroked her hair, soothing her, settling her. He knew she was afraid to sleep, that everything had seemed so perfect before, and then had gone so tragically wrong, because he was afraid of it too. But she was exhausted, and had done so much already tonight.

"You don't need a little longer just now, my darling. You'll have all day tomorrow, and every day after that, to love him. Now, you need to rest."

His words were so warm, so full of comfort and confidence and assurance, that she couldn't help but believe him. Her arms tightened fractionally around their baby and she twisted to kiss her husband's jaw in a rare moment of vulnerability, as she asked,

"Will you stay?"

Matthew's laugh rumbled through her and warmed her, and she smiled.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised her softly. "I'm not leaving you, not for a moment, and when you wake up both our son and I will be here. And I can tell you now, we shall both be expecting a kiss – or several, actually – and I know how you'd hate to disappoint us."

A soft, gurgling murmur sounded from their tiny son as he smacked his lips together, as if to agree with his Papa entirely.

Mary laughed in delight. "I think he's trying to tell us something," she smiled, and relented to pass the babe into his father's waiting arms. It took Matthew a moment to settle, overwhelmed by the responsibility of holding his precious son, and Mary watched them adoringly.

She decided that she could watch them forever, only… her eyes began to close in protest. But as sleep threatened to overtake her, in the security of Matthew's promise to stay by her side, she heard his voice… and let it comfort her, and thrill her, to hear him whisper softly to their son. Their son… It seemed the most perfect dream.

"Well hello, little man," he said in wonder. His son stared up at him attentively, through sleepy blue eyes, and it seemed impossible that only mere hours ago he had been only a promise, an unknown truth kept safely from the world that now he lived and breathed in. Matthew pressed his lips tenderly to the baby's forehead, as tears blurred his sight. "We waited so long to meet you," he breathed. "So long. And we hadn't thought that we would yet, not for another month! I wonder if you were just as excited to meet us as we were to meet you. I hope so."

The blue eyes, so like their father's, gently closed, and a tiny hand gently curled around Matthew's finger. He looked to where his wife lay nestled amongst pillows, so peaceful now in her sleep, and his heart swelled with gratitude and love, fear driven out in this beautiful moment.

"We love you," he whispered between them, and he wasn't sure himself whether it was his wife or his son he addressed. "We both love you so much. And we will always be here, or – with you, anyway. Always. Sleep now, darling, and… be safe."

Fin

A/N: There we are! Thank you for reading, I hope very much that you enjoyed it. As ever I'd love to know what you thought! And the next you hear from me, I do promise, will be more of WATTITW... Thank you!